


Home Is Where (...)

by bbgon



Series: Men of the World (Kendle/Lenny): Rules for Real Men + Home Is Where (...) [2]
Category: Men of the World (TV)
Genre: Background Het, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Parent-Child Relationship, Resolved Sexual Tension, Separations, Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-01-19 17:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12414765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbgon/pseuds/bbgon
Summary: Sequel to 'Rules for Real Men'. Lenny tries to figure out whether he has a really bad hangover or a midlife crisis, how to deal with it and what he needs Kendle for.I've done my best proofreading the text, but I would appreciate any comments and corrections. I am also looking for a beta reader.





	1. 1995: Prologue

Lenny makes himself comfortable on the couch with a bag of crisps and two bottles of beer. 

“Kendle!” he calls. “C’mon, I’ve got a new DVD!”

Kendle drags himself into the sitting room.

“Is it Stallone again?” he moans. “How many times have you seen it?”

“Stallone’s a genius. C’mon, Kendle,” Lenny pats the seat and offers him a bottle. 

“I don’t want a beer!” 

“There’s some wine,” Lenny suggests. 

“I don’t want wine!”

“What, abstinence is the way? Let’s start drinking tea like a couple of old ladies.”

“I don’t want beer, or wine, or watch Stallone! I–“ Kendle falls onto the couch. “I don’t know what I want. It’s the same every time: we watch telly, we drink beer, then you start grabbing me, and we have a ‘friendly wank’–“

“Yeah, and you love it.”

Kendle sighs. “It’s not that don’t like it, it’s just,” he sighs again, “nothing changes, there’s no surprise. It’s like I live in a groundhog day. I go to work, I come home, we go to the pub, we shag in front of the telly–“

“Sometimes we shag in the bedroom,” Lenny objects. 

“Oh, yes, what an excitement! Lenny in his old pajamas!”

“Oi, oi! You said I looked gorgeous in my pajamas.”

“I must have been very horny that day,” Kendle looks away. Is there something wrong with him? 

“I could shag you on the dining table. We have a great dining table,” Lenny suggest half-jokingly. 

“I don’t want to shag you at all!” Kendle explodes. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s not the point. It’s just that I sit in the shop every day, and I tell people about all the wonderful places they can visit. I see these young kids going away for their gap year, and I promise them they’ll have a great time and meet new people. But how do I know, I’ve never been there!”

“We’ve been to Paris.”

“Yeah, Paris. It’s where we climbed the Eiffel tower, and then you almost fainted at the top, because you were suddenly afraid of heights.”

“I’m not! It was – it was too hot.”

“Yeah, in October. And then you insisted on spending the rest of the weekend in the hotel.”

“I thought you wanted a romantic weekend. In bed.”

“Not that kind of a weekend, not with you raiding the mini-bar!”

“We did go out!”

“To a cheap cabaret with strippers. And I had to pay for the mini-bar, because you ran out of cash! Totally bloody romantic.”

“It was still fun.”

Kendle sighs and rubs his face. There’s too much sighing going on to Lenny’s liking. 

“We could go to Spain in a couple of months,” he offers.

“You’ve been saying that for a year.”

“You know they’ve changed the rules! We don’t get any free trips anymore.”

Kendle looks up and stares at Lenny’s brand-new flat-screen TV. 

“It’s a good TV!” Lenny says before Kendle can put in a word. 

“And it cost like two weeks in Spain.”

“Yeah, but see, it’s my window to the world. It has everything in it: films, sports, news, music. The holiday is gone like this,” Lenny snaps his fingers, “but you can enjoy your telly for years and years.”

“Maybe it’s too small a window for me, Lenny. I don’t want to see things on the TV, I want to experience them, live them! I’m young, I’m not like you!”

That stings.

“I’m not old!”

“But you act like you are sixty-seven, not thirty-seven!” Kendle jumps up. “Let’s – let’s do something! Let’s close the shop and go to London. Tonight. We can do that.”

“Er, not tonight, there’s boxing on later.”

Kendle growls in despair and leaves the room. A minute later, Lenny can hear him slam the front door shut. 

“Kendle, don’t be stupid!” he calls after him, but Kendle is already gone. 

* * * 

Lenny is woken by banging music. 

“What the hell?” he murmurs into the pillow. Kendle is not in bed. The music goes on drumming so loudly it hurts his ears. 

Reluctantly he climbs out of bed. 

“Kendle!” he calls on the way downstairs. “What the hell is going on?”

He opens the door to the sitting room, and the music overwhelms him. He stares. Kendle twitches to the rhythm of the bass, revolving his arms like a windmill. An ugly young bloke is standing beside him tapping his foot to the music. The room smells of strong spirits and cigarettes. 

“Kendle!”

No response. Lenny presses ‘Stop’ on his CD player. 

“Kendle!” he barks. 

“Ah, Lenny,” Kendle smiles drunkenly. “Whassup, dude?” he makes a strange gesture. 

“What?”

The ugly bloke laughs unpleasantly. He is holding an open bottle of brandy Lenny got as a birthday present from his mate Gilby and was saving up for a special occasion. 

“Chill out, grandpa, don’ be a buzzkill,” the bloke says in a sluggish, lazy voice.

“What is he talking about?”

Now both Kendle and the bloke laugh.

“He just don’t get it, bro,” the bloke intones mockingly. 

Lenny pulls Kendle to the side. 

“Kendle, who is that?”

“Tha’s my bro Terry. What up, bro?” Kendle tries to repeat his gesture, but his fingers get mixed up, and he fails. “I met him at Megatrone 7.”

“What’s Megatrone 7?” 

“’Tis da hottest club in M-city, grandpa,” Terry says. 

“Excuse me, it sounds like English, but you don’t make any sense.”

“’Tis ye old man, bro?” Terry addresses Kendle with a smirk. 

“No, that’s my mate Lenny, I mean, that’s my bro, bro.”

“Kendle, you sound ridiculous.”

“No, you sound ridiculous, I sound like a young person!”

“With your brains surgically removed.”

“You need to go with the wave, Lenny,” Kendle frees himself from Lenny’s grip and makes a wave with his hand. “Stay in the loop. Chill out.”

“Yeah, stop wigg’n out, grandpa,” Terry says lazily and pulls a roll-up out of his pocket. “Wanna get blazed?”

“I’m not your grandpa!!!” That’s enough for Lenny. “Get out of my house!”

Terry snorts, “You’re too tense, old man. Get over it,” then nods to Kendle, “Let’s dip, bro.”

“Yeah, let’s dip, bro,” Kendle repeats. “What was it again?”

“Let’s roll,” Terry translates. “Let’s bounce.”

Kendle is still clueless. Terry starts moving towards the exit and hitches Kendle on the way. 

“Oh, let’s go!” he finally realises. “Yeah, let’s – let’s bounce.”

“Kendle, you’re not going anywhere,” Lenny catches his shoulder. 

“Oh yeah, will you stop me?”

Lenny would love to lift him, throw over his shoulder and put him to bed, but he knows Kendle is too heavy, he’d just make a fool of himself if he tried. 

“Go on then!” he shouts instead. “Bounce away!” he makes a gesture like bouncing and throwing a ball. “I will not tolerate this ignorant specimen of a man in my own house!”

“This is my house, too! I am allowed to have guests!” Kendle shouts back. 

“No, it’s not! I bought this house to raise my family, and not for your stupid _bros_ who talk gibberish and listen to stupid music in the middle of the night! If you insist on spending your time with him, then do it as far away from here as possible!”

“And I will! You’re too boring anyway, you’re so stuck in your old ways you can’t learn anything new! I want to have exciting friends! Friends who talk like young people, and not only moan about grocery prices and football and Stallone! ‘Oh, the carrots went up ten pee, oh, can we afford them now?’ And I sit there and nod and agree with you, ‘Oh yeah, and the beans, ‘ave ye seen the prices?’ I’m sick of it, I hate this life, I want out of here!”

“Go on then!”

“I will!”

“Go on!”

“I am!”

Lenny has an icy feeling in his stomach as Kendle leaves with Terry. 

* * *

Kendle fails to appear at work the next morning. What a stupid, irresponsible kid! What if that dodgy bloke Terry got him drunk, hit him on the head, robbed him and left him to freeze in a ditch somewhere? Or worse? Lenny checks the time: ten a.m. Is it too early to call the police? 

Another young couple comes into their travel office and asks for a tip for their gap year. Kendle would be so envious right now. 

As the teenagers in silly baseball hats leaf through the brochures, Lenny asks tentatively:

“Do you know what Megatrone 7 is?”

They both look as him, then exchange amused glances. 

“Yeah, ‘tis the hottest place right now,” says the girl who wears dark-brown lipstick and looks like a vampire hooker. “D’you fancy going?”

“They won’t let ye in, though, ye’re not in their ‘age range’, if ye don’t mind me saying,” the boy chimes in. 

Lenny brushes up his jacket with dignity. 

“I’m just trying to, erm, stay in the loop. Go with the wave. Bro,” he adds for more effect. The teenagers snigger.

“You go, old man.”

The boy lifts his fist, Lenny stares at it for a second and then touches it with his fist. He feels like an idiot. 

“Have you made your choice?” he asks in a professional tone of voice and feels more in his element.

After the couple leaves with a booking, he walks over to Kendle’s desk and searches for a hand mirror in his drawer. Is he too old? He pulls at the skin around his eyes, trying to smoothen it out. He is thirty-seven, and Kendle is only twenty-two. He can hardly remember himself at that age. He and Gilby and Vic and Tommy all lost their shitty jobs and spent their days wandering around the neighbourhood, doing nothing. Lenny was happy about an occasional shift at the ‘Four Bells’ where he helped with the moping and washing-up. At least there was free beer in it and a couple of quid. His twenty-something feel like a void he doesn’t want to dip into. 

Kendle can do better than that. He doesn’t have to look back at his youth and think: that’s when I lost my best years hanging around Lenny and the other old geezers, sitting in the shabby pub, drinking cheap beer, dreaming about being Sylvester Stallone. That’s when I missed my chance to go out into the world and meet a beautiful girl, because I spent my youth shagging Lenny on a smelly old couch. 

Where does it lead anyway? After Nina eloped only a couple of months after their wedding, Lenny’s plan was to meet a steady nice lady, marry her and raise kids together. His house was supposed to become a family home, not a home for two bachelors. It was supposed to have pictures of little hands on the walls, no-tears shampoo in the bathroom and playdoh smudged all over the couch, not sperm. Even if it hasn’t worked out with Nina, there are still a lot of marriageable women around. This last year, he was sidetracked, he hasn’t made any proper attempts to meet someone. He should get back to it and not waste time on Kendle and his silly problems. They can’t possibly have anything in common, they’re from different generations, they’re worlds apart. 

Before he can change his mind, he scribbles a note on a piece of their branded paper and pops out to the newsagent’s. 

* * *

Kendle comes in after lunchtime. He is wearing a suit and a crinkled shirt. 

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” he says cheerfully. “I had to go home and change.”

Lenny is busy, so he just throws Kendle a quick glance and returns to dealing with the man in front of him. 

“It’s fine,” he waves Kendle away. Kendle keeps looming. 

“Psst, Lenny!”

“Go away, Kendle, I’m talking to Mr. Thomas here.” 

Mr. Thomas, a plump man in his early forties, regards Kendle curiously. 

“Psst, Lenny, can I have a quick word?”

“Alright.” Lenny apologises to Bob Thomas and follows Kendle to the small back room which serves as a storage and a kitchen. 

“What?!”

“I’m sorry I was late today,” Kendle starts. 

“No problem, I can manage perfectly well on my own.”

“I want to tell you something.”

“Mr. Smart!” Bob calls from the office. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” Lenny calls back in his customer-soothing voice. “Make it quick, Kendle.”

“Erm,” Kendle hesitates. “You know what, Lenny, sit down, have a cup of tea, I’ll take care of him.”

“Kendle, better not–”

But Kendle makes Lenny sit down and pours him a cup of lukewarm tea from a plastic electric kettle, then disappears into the shop. 

“Hello, Mister, erm–” Lenny can hear him say. 

“Thomas.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thomas, I’ll take over from here.”

Lenny tiptoes to the door and peeps out. Maybe it’s better if Kendle finds out on his own. 

“Have you discussed the details with my colleague, Mr. Thomas?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And the budget?”

Kendle has become more professional in the past couple of years. As he started the job, he could hardly talk to the customers without stammering. Despite that, Lenny has never considered replacing him. He could have asked the management for a faster, smarter, more skilled colleague which would have improved their sales and their wages. Instead, he preferred to stick with Kendle, even before they made love for the first time. You couldn’t fool around with some professional sales-oriented ass-kissing guy, you couldn’t make fun of him, he wouldn’t blush up to his ears when a pretty customer talked to him; all in all, he would be boring like hell.

Lenny retreats to the back room and waits for Kendle to finish the conversation. Somehow, he is not in the mood to spy on him anymore. 

“Yes, it’s forty pounds a week,” he hears Bob say. 

“Forty? I’m afraid you won’t find anything for that price.” 

“But I have, it says so right here, Mr. Smart placed this advert at the newsagent’s this morning.”

“’Unexpectedly available. Spacious room with central heating and a luxury divan in a warm, friendly two-bedroom terrace house for a professional man with references and a pleasant manner, with interest in football and Stallone films, not younger than thirty-five’,” Kendle reads aloud. “Lenny!!!”

He burst into the back room. 

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“You said you wanted new exciting friends. Go on then, go into the world and find yourself an exciting new life. And I’ll stick with someone _my age_.”

Kendle stares at the note in his hand and then back at Lenny. 

“Well, this makes it easier. What I wanted to tell you is that Terry and I are going on a trip.”

Lenny’s mouth turns dry. He has arranged for Kendle to move out, but he hasn’t really thought it would happen this quickly. 

“When?” he manages to say.

“Tonight.”

Bob’s round figure appears in the doorway. 

“Does it mean I can move in today?” he asks merrily. Lenny hesitates, but Kendle responds:

“Yes. Actually, you can move in right now.”

“Yes, let’s get it over and done with,” Lenny agrees surly. 

He closes the shop, and they all ride home together. On the bus, Bob sits between them on a side bench and chatters about his school-years’ football glory. 

“So there was this one game, our best forward was out with the flu, so they said: ‘Okay, Bob, you’ll have to do it, you’re our only hope’. So I did it!”

Lenny skews at Bob’s short chubby legs and doesn’t believe a word he says. Kendle has nice legs. Slim, but not skinny, and a funny round butt that’s… that he’s not going to think about anymore, because from now on he’s looking for the future Mrs. Smart. 

He dares a glance at Kendle. Kendle is staring out of the bus window as if he hates every bit of Manchester he can see through the dirty glass. Lenny can bet that he’s not thinking about Lenny’s butt right now. Or if he is, Kendle is secretly happy that he won’t have to see his wrinkly old butt anymore. What a hypocrite! For a year, Lenny’s butt and every other part of him was perfectly fine, and then this ugly bloke Terry comes along, and Lenny is suddenly too old and too boring and gets left in the dust. 

“Get lost,” Lenny says out loud. Bob pauses.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m glad that you’ll get lost soon, Kendle.”

“Me too,” Kendle crosses his arms and keeps staring out of the window. 

“I’m sure Terry will be a much better–” Lenny wants to say ‘shag’, but not in front of Bob, “–fit for you, Kendle.”

“He is,” Kendle says. 

Oh. Right. So he is already. Lenny suddenly wants to squash Terry’s smirking face like a tomato. 

“Is he going to pick you up?”

“No, I’m meeting him at the station.”

“I’m very happy for you both,” Lenny stares straight ahead. Bob looks from him to Kendle and back in confusion, then resumes his prattling. 

* * * 

“That’s a great room,” Lenny repeats for the third time. Bob is almost convinced, but Kendle interrupts again:

“Have you seen the mattress? There are some nasty stains on it.”

He lifts the covers, and they all stare at the yellowish stains. Are they from that time when Kendle and he..? Better not to think about it. 

“What are they?” Bob starts to say.

“We’ll get you a new mattress, okay?” Lenny cuts him off. 

“Also, Lenny snores,” Kendle says gleefully. 

“I don’t!”

“You do! This house has very thin walls,” Kendle adds for Bob’s sake. 

“I’m sure this won’t be a problem – for Bob.”

“Who knows.”

“It definitely won’t be a problem.” Lenny’s had enough. “Do you want the room or not, Bob?”

“Will there be a new mattress?”

“Yes.”

Bob smiles and offers his hand. “Deal.”

Lenny shakes it. 

“I’ll be off then,” Kendle says suddenly. His bag is packed already: he must have done it in the morning. “My train’s in a half an hour.”

Are you sure about this, Lenny wants to ask, do you have enough money, won’t you get lost, won’t you get in trouble, don’t take drugs except beer, don’t trust Terry, he’s a dodgy type, what if you have to sleep under a bridge, catch a cold and die, stay here, and we’ll fix it somehow, we’ll think of something, we’ll… Well, that’s the thing: they cannot offer each other anything except a wank in front of a telly, and that’s not real life, that’s not what they need, not forever. 

So he just acts nonchalantly. 

“Good riddance,” he says. He doesn’t want to prolong this moment, especially not in front of Bob. 

“Yeah, well,” Kendle nods and stumbles out of the room.

“Bye, Kendle. Lenny, shall we sign the contract?” Bob asks cheerfully.

“Just a sec.” Lenny rubs his eyes, but it makes it worse. He steps out onto the landing just in time to hear the entrance door click shut. Bob slaps his back, so that Lenny jumps. 

“How about a cup of tea? I’ll make it.” He trods down the stairs to the kitchen. “A nice cuppa always helps.” Lenny can hear him rummage in the cupboards. He starts down the stairs as well. Every step is hard. “There’s boxing on tonight, heavy weight. D’you like boxing? I love it! We could get some beer and have a boys’ night in, you and me. What d’you think? Lenny? Hey, Lenny?”

Lenny is already out of the door. A cab is never there when you need it. He starts running. It’s a solid one-hour walk to the station, but he manages it in twenty. His throat is burning, his chest is bursting, he feels like having a heart attack. 

The station is packed, it’s rush hour. Every useless clerk has finished work and hurries to take a seat on a train back to his suburbs. Lenny realises he hasn’t even asked where Kendle is heading. He runs past the entrances to the platforms, trying to guess. 

“Oi!” he pushes someone out of the way and doesn’t stop to apologise. There is a train to London. Kendle must be going to London, he dreamed about going to London only twenty-four hours ago – with Lenny. 

It feels as if someone has stuck a knife into Lenny’s right side. He can hardly run, but he pushes himself onwards. He jumps up and down to peer into the carriage windows trying to recognise Kendle’s face among the passengers. The train engine gives a whistle, doors start closing. Lenny jumps onto the step of the nearest carriage. Now he cannot possibly miss Kendle. 

He runs along the train staring into the passengers’ faces, opening toilet doors. Kendle’s not there, neither is Terry. Lenny walks back. He must have missed them the first time. They must be on this train, it must be the right one. Still no sign of them. On his third round, he is caught by a ticket inspector. 

They kick him off the train in Stafford, in his house shoes – he didn’t have time to change as he rushed off – and without a penny. The way home is painful in every sense. 

As he gets to his bedroom at dawn next day, Bob appears from the spare room in his underpants, rubbing his hairy belly sleepily. 

“I thought you weren’t coming back, mate. What happened?”

“Don’t ask.”

Lenny shuts his bedroom door. He doesn’t want to remember this day ever.


	2. 2000: Chapter 1

Mr. Whitby wants to go fishing in the Lake District. Lenny wants him to go to Thailand. They have been battling over this for an hour, and it looks like a tie. Lenny doesn’t give up. 

“You went fishing last year, Mr. Whitby. And the year before that. And three years ago. Isn’t it time for something new?”

“But I like fishing,” Mr. Whitby demurs. 

“You will like Thailand even more, I promise.”

“It’s a bit expensive,” Mr. Whitby hesitates. “I’m not sure I can afford it.”

“It’s worth every penny. We haven’t got a single customer who went to Thailand and didn’t like it.”

Mr. Whitby points to one of the colourful photographs in the brochure.

“What are they doing?”

Lenny cocks his head to look at it. He squints. It doesn’t help. 

“Erm. Celebrating. Yes, definitely celebrating.”

“Why are they naked?”

“They aren’t naked, look, this one’s wearing a thong!”

“I’m not sure my wife will–“

“Mr. Whitby,” Lenny says in his best seductive sales voice. “You need to go with the flow. Don’t be afraid to try something new. We don’t have to tell your wife.”

Mr. Whitby frowns. It looks like Lenny might have overdone it. 

“How long have you been working here, Mr. Smart?”

“Ten years this year.”

“So what happened to trying something new, Mr. Smart?”

Life happened. Obligations. Routine. 

Lenny smiles professionally. 

“I like my job.”

“And I like fishing,” Mr. Whitby smiles back. “So will you book my trip, please, same as last year?”

“Will do, Mr. Whitby,” Lenny salutes. 

* * *

Mr. Whitby leaves with his booking. The next customer takes a seat in front of Lenny.

“Just a second,” he says, typing the last figures into his Excel sheet. It still requires all of his concentration. Even his boys are learning this computer stuff faster than he does. Is he really too old for the new tricks?

“I might like to try something new, Mr. Smart,” the customer says. There is a smile in his voice. 

Lenny lifts his head. In front of him, there’s Kendle, grinning like mad. Alive, well and fresh-shaven. He looks older or, better to say, less puppy-like. He is wearing a leather jacket which actually fits him and doesn’t look like it has been stolen from his dad. He is just perfect. 

“Kendle.”

“Lenny.”

“Kendle!” Lenny jumps up from his chair, and Kendle jumps up, too. There’s a weird moment when they cannot decide which way to run around the desk and start in the opposite directions, then both make a turn, so that it’s wrong again. 

Then Lenny simply reaches over the desk and grabs at Kendle jacket. Kendle climbs onto the desk, almost knocking over the computer screen. Lenny was aiming for a manly hug, not that he would try anything else in front of the huge shop window, but Kendle misunderstands, and they end up kissing for the whole two seconds. Until Lenny remembers they are in plain view. He pulls away. 

“C’mon.” He takes Kendle’s hand and leads him away from the window. 

They used to make out in the back room during their lunch breaks. Long, warm thirty minutes. Lenny would lean onto the kitchen table, like he does now, with its sharp edge cutting into his backside. Kendle put his arms around his neck, like he used to do, and kisses him again. 

“Hi.”

The leather of Kendle’s jacket rubs hard against Lenny’s skin. 

“This,” he whispers. “Take it off.” He pulls at the sleeve and makes Kendle spin out of the jacket. His arms are white and smooth, except for a small uneven heart-shaped tattoo on his shoulder. 

“I know.” Kendle rubs at it shyly. “Stupid. Don’t ask. I regret it every time I take a shower.”

“That’s the only one?” Lenny cannot believe it. 

“It was painful as hell – even though I was drunk. No way I’d do this again.”

Lenny touches the crease of his left elbow. The blueish veins are hardly distinguishable, nothing out of the ordinary.

“You are not doing drugs?” he asks just to be sure. “But your dad said–“

“Probably that I was in a gang or something? He’s always exaggerating. Don’t listen to him. Aww,” Kendle squeezes Lenny’s neck, almost suffocating him. “I’m so glad to be back home. I’m sorry I didn’t call, I was all over the place, but it’s fine now.”

Lenny pats his back, but slowly shuffles, so that Kendle’s mouth would once again come closer to his. It tastes like mints. He can imagine Kendle sucking on a mint drop nervously before stepping into his office; he did plan this, or at least he had kissing in the back of his mind. 

Sexy. 

Kendle’s leg rubs in between Lenny’s thighs. 

The shop bell rings. 

“Lenny! Are you there? I’ve got your sandwich!”

Kendle freezes. 

“Who’s that?” he whispers. 

“Nancy. We work together,” Lenny whispers back hastily. He coughs to regain the control of his voice and shouts. “Coming!”

Kendle pauses to pick up his jacket, then follows him into the shop. 

“Ah, here you are!” Nancy smiles her dimply smile. “Here’s your sandwich, tuna and egg, they were out of ham.” She notices Kendle. “Hello.”

“Hi,” he shuffles his feet. 

“We were just – er, Kendle stopped by, so I was about to make tea for him. That’s why we were in the kitchen.”

“Kendle?” Nancy repeats, her eyes widening. “ _The_ Kendle?”

“I’m definitely a Kendle, not sure if I’m the Kendle,” Kendle throws a questioning glance at Lenny. 

“Kendle Baines?” Nancy asks. Kendle looks more and more confused. He probably thinks he is wanted for murder or something. “Oh, I finally get to meet you! Lenny’s been going on and on about you. ‘Kendle and I did this, Kendle and I did that, when Kendle was still here, my best mate Kendle.’”

Kendle straightens his back and dares a smile. 

“Really?”

“Oh yes, I’d even say: ‘Lenny, if Kendle was so wonderful, you should’ve married him and not me!’” 

She laughs. Kendle’s smile freezes. Lenny looks to the ground, but the other two don’t disappear. They are still there and waiting. In a belated feat of courtesy, Lenny waves his hand by way of introduction:

“Nancy, meet Kendle. Kendle, please meet Nancy. My wife.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nancy offers him a hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” Kendle echoes. He sounds as if he had cramps. “I – I almost forgot. I promised my dad I’d be home for lunch.”

“Lenny,” Nancy suggest, “why don’t we invite Kendle for tea? How long are you staying in Manchester?”

“Um, not long. A few days.” Kendle avoids looking Nancy in the eye. His ears have turned bright red. 

“How about tonight?”

“No, I can’t,” Kendle says quickly. “My dad wants me home. Since my mum passed away, he’s been, um–”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. Of course, love, you need to support each other. It must be so hard for you.”

It sounds as if his mum died yesterday, although Lenny can vividly remember her funeral shortly after Kendle moved into his house, about ten years ago, and Kendle crying for hours on his shoulder and snotting all over Lenny’s new black shirt. Since then, Kendle’s father has long found solace in beer. 

Kendle mumbles something like “Yeah, it’s so sad” and “It was nice meeting you”, eager to leave. 

Five minutes in Kendle’s company, a few words and a kiss? He hasn’t even had time to ask where Kendle was and what he did for the last five years.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he tells Nancy and follows Kendle out into the street. 

“Wait!” he grabs Kendle’s arm. Kendle isn’t crying, but he has a too firm expression on his face, his lips pressed together in a thin line, his eyelids reddening. “How about a drink? Tonight at the ‘Four Bells’.”

Kendle shakes his head without a sound.

“I’m sure everyone would love to see you.”

Kendle bites his lip. His nose is slowly turning pink. He is probably afraid that if he gives a peep, he’ll start crying in the middle of the street. Lenny takes him by the shoulder and drags into a narrow passage between two red brick walls. It’s quieter here, but there are still people passing by a few meters away. He would love to give Kendle a hug and dares not. He leans onto the wall beside him.

“Remember Gilby? Got married last year, no one expected that any woman’d be stupid enough to fall for him. Alice, a friend of Nancy’s. He sort of wore her down. His daughter was born in March, so now he roots for our women’s national football team. Did you even know that women had their own World Cup?”

“And you?” Kendle asks in a cracked voice. 

“They’re okay, but I’d prefer if they played in bikinis.”

“No, I mean kids.”

“Nancy had two boys when I married her; Matt’s eleven and Stuart is six. Their father was an asshole, so they’re kind of mine now.”

“Your own football team.”

Lenny sighs. 

“I might still have a chance with Stuart, I convinced him to sign up for the school team this year. And Matthew is a lost cause, he’s in love with taekwondo.”

“Condolences.” Kendle says solemnly. Lenny finally has enough courage to glance up at him. They both chuckle. 

“Will you come to the pub?”

Kendle chews on his lip. 

“Alright.”

“Eight-ish?”

“Alright.”

They shake hands awkwardly, then start into a hug and stop half-way.

“See ya,” Kendle says before he leaves Lenny alone in the dead end of the street. 

* * * 

At tea, Stuart keeps complaining about his first football training. 

“And then they made us run round and round the field, it was so-o bo-oring!”

“It’s not boring, it’s fun. We used to kick the ball all the time when we were kids, ask Uncle Gilby or Uncle Vic. We had the best of times!”

“Well, I don’t!” Stuart drops the fork and crosses his arms. 

“Wait till you become the world champions,” Lenny tries to be patient. “Do you want to be like David Beckham?” 

Stuart put up a poster of him above his bed, so that’s a sure winner. 

“No, I don’t! I don’t!” He kicks the table leg, and accidentally Lenny’s knee as well. “I want to do taekwondo with Matt! Football’s bo-oring!”

“I told you so!” Matt chimes in gleefully. “Only idiots would run around after a ball! It’s useless!”

“Fine!” Lenny throws his fork onto the plate. The brown sauce spatters around. Patience isn’t working for him today. “Do your stupid Chinese kicking–”

“It’s Korean and it’s not stupid!” Matthew protests.

“–and then watch your classmates play in the national league while you sit on the couch drinking shitty beer after a shitty day at the office thinking about your shitty life–”

“Lenny, tone it down,” Nancy warns him. 

“–while other people go away and do something with their lives, and you just sit in this shithole! That’s what’s boring, and football’s not boring, it’s exciting!”

“Lenny! What’s gotten into you?” Nancy is appalled. The boys watch him in disbelief.

“I’m going to the pub,” Lenny announces abruptly. 

* * * 

Lenny hopes no one he knows will choose to spend the evening at the ‘Four Bells’, that they will suddenly fall sick or have to work late, but of course, he finds a full gathering when he arrives. It’s Thursday, their darts night. 

“Hey!” Vic raises his hand in a greeting. “You look smart today, what’s the occasion?”

Lenny smoothens out his shirt. He stopped making an effort on his nights out as soon as he married Nancy; he didn’t need to impress the girls now, did he? 

“Nothing,” he says. “Everything else was in the wash.”

He doesn’t want to mention Kendle in case he doesn’t show up. And anyway, Kendle’s arrival does not constitute a valid reason for putting on his best shirt. 

“How’s the wife and kids?” Gilby asks. 

“As usual.”

Gilby is just looking for a pretext to start talking about his little girl. So Lenny asks:

“How is Shannon?”

Vic and Tommy make murderous faces at him, because now Gilby will be banging on about her for at least an hour, but it’s fine with Lenny. Vic hands him the missiles. 

“Shall we begin?”

The dartboard is in the corner farthest away from the door. Lenny cannot help but glance over his shoulder every minute. Kendle promised to be there around eight. It’s a half past nine. No sign of him yet.

Lenny nips at his third pint while Gilby is taking his time to aim. 

“Come on!” Tommy urges him. He taps his foot and looks at his watch to make a point – again. He always acts as if he were in a hurry. 

“What time is it?” Lenny asks. 

“Quarter past nine.”

Kendle isn’t coming. Gilby throws the dart and misses. The needle hits the wooden wall below the board which is chipped white from his continuous failed attempts. 

“Oh,” Gilby pulls a face. “I was sure I’d hit it.”

“Maybe next time,” Lenny promises. It’s their usual routine: Gilby accepts his consolations, smiles and nods. 

“Yeah. Your turn.” He steps aside to let the anxious Tom have a go. 

Gilby picks up his chatter where he left it five minutes ago. 

“So I looked up the children’s football team. Did you know they can start as early as four now?”

“Gilby, your daughter is six months old.” 

“I rewatched the ’66 World Cup final with her the other day, while Alice was at her mom’s. She seems to like Bobby Charlton, you know. She started wiggling her little legs every time he had the ball.”

“Sure,” Lenny nods. Whatever makes Gilby happy. “She’ll become one of the best forwards one day.”

Kendle was right, he had to leave. Five more years, and he would have been sucked into this swamp forever.

“Or maybe it’s better if she becomes a goalkeeper? Safer, you know?” Gilby asks with a worried expression. 

“Or maybe she’ll end up a cashier at Tesco’s. Or a single mum on benefits. Or a junkie.” Gilby doesn’t seem impressed. “Or she’ll hate football and insist on taekwondo.”

This hits a soft spot. 

“Why’d you say that? My daughter’d never hate football, it’s in the genes, right?” he looks from Vic to Tommy for support. “It must be in the genes.”

“Nonsense! It’s not in the genes, you can’t have a football gene! Stuart had his first training today, and he _loved_ it!”

Gilby stops and stares over Lenny’s shoulder. 

“Isn’t it Kendle?”

Lenny turns around so quickly he almost topples over the next table. Kendle is standing in the doorway. He looks around the room uncertainly, as if considering to take flight. Vic and Tommy peer at him, too, in the dim lights. 

“Yeah, it’s Kendle.”

“Hey, Kendle!” Vic waves. 

Now it’s too late to flee. Kendle notices them and raises his hand. He edges his way through the crowd. There is a decent amount of manly hugging and patting on the back and “Good to see you, mate!” and “Where’ve you been?”

Lenny is the last in line. He hugs Kendle, too, and pats him on the back and exclaims “How’re you?” He is very aware of every millisecond he holds Kendle close. He doesn’t want to let go, but the clock in his head is ticking: too long, too long, people will notice, stop now – and he drops Kendle like a hot potato. 

“Who’s buying?” Vic asks excitedly.

“Me, I guess,” Kendle volunteers without enthusiasm. Lenny offers to help. At the bar, Kendle rummages in his pockets before producing a handful of change to pay for the beer. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Lenny says quietly when Rob, the landlord, turns away to get the glasses. 

“So did I,” Kendle answers without facing Lenny. “Then I decided, better you lot than staying at home with my dad.”

Lenny chuckles. “Thanks for coming.”

Rob hands them the beer. “Cheers,” Kendle salutes him. 

“So, tell us everything,” Vic says as they sit down.

“Everything?” 

“Yeah, how’s Terry?” Lenny starts. 

“Terry?” Kendle arches his eyebrows. “Oh, Terry. That Terry. I haven’t seen him for years. We parted in Liverpool.”

“Liverpool? I thought you went to London!”

“I did, but Terry only had the money for a ticket to Liverpool, so we parted our ways there.”

“Liverpool!” Lenny repeats, astonished. “It’s a one-hour trip, it only costs a couple of quid. We could’ve gone there any time!” All the talk about boredom and their failed holiday in Spain, while Kendle would’ve been satisfied with a trip to bloody Liverpool!

“Let’s all go to Liverpool!” Gilby exclaims. 

“What’s in Liverpool?” Tommy asks. 

“I don’t know, but Kendle said it was great.”

“I didn’t say it was great, I said I went there with Terry.”

“So how was it, Liverpool with Terry?” Lenny asks. “I bet it was fantastic. How d’you say it? Hot.” He flicks his hand in what must be the appropriate gesture. 

“Cool,” Kendle corrects him. 

“Whatever.”

Kendle shrugs. 

“I only stayed a couple of days before going to London.”

“So how’s London?” Tommy leans forward. “Do you have a job?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How much are they paying you?”

Kendle hesitates for a moment, then gives him a number. Tommy whistles. 

“Not bad. And an apartment?”

“The rent is bit high. But it’s quite central.”

“Oh, so we are a man of the world now, are we?” Lenny is suddenly bitter. “Do you have a girlfriend then?”

Kendle raises the pint to his lips and nods. 

“What are the birds like in London?” Vic fidgets on the edge of his chair. 

“Two arms, two legs, the usual stuff in between,” Kendle vaguely shapes a female body with his hands. 

“Oh, come on, Kendle, give us more than that!” Vic urges him. 

“Yeah,” Gilby agrees. “Is she nice? Do you love her?”

Kendle chokes on his beer. Lenny has more restraint, so he just gulps it down rather too quickly and burps. 

“She’s okay,” Kendle responds once he can speak again. “How’s everything here? I heard you’ve got a kid,” he addresses Gilby. This is the right move. Gilby beams and takes out his wallet.

“Have you seen her? That’s Shannon,” he shows a picture of his baby girl around, although the rest of them have a regular honour to meet Gilby’s little princess in person. “Everyone says she looks like me.”

“No one says she looks like you,” Lenny interrupts. “She looks like a pink tiny human, not like a hairy ape that you are.”

Gilby squints at the picture. Kendle does, too. 

“No, there’s definitely something about the eyes,” he placates him. 

“See!” Gilby triumphs. 

“Lenny also got married,” Kendle says half-questioningly, as if he wants the others to rebut this piece of information. 

“He did!” Gilby nods. “A couple of months after you left.”

“More like a year,” Lenny objects. “Okay, maybe half a year.”

“Why weren’t you there? He chose that idiot,” Vic points at Gilby, “as his best man. Can you imagine the mess?”

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” Kendle says. “How did you meet?”

“She replaced you – took over your job.” Lenny corrects himself. “It all started from there.”

“Must be very convenient,” Kendle remarks. “Working together, living together.”

“It is. And she loves Stallone, too.” 

“Good for you.”

“Thanks.”

They avoid looking at each other. Luckily, Gilby goes on chatting. 

“She is a very nice lady, Nancy. She wasn’t even cross about that kitchen window at their wedding.”

In fact, Nancy was very cross to find that Lenny’s mates (they never remembered who exactly it was) smashed the window, so that she and Lenny had to spend their wedding night taping it up. It’s just that her anger spilled only on Lenny, and the others were dismissed as irresponsible childish drunkards who needed to be kept at bay – that is, by Lenny, whom she labelled the most mature of them all. 

“You must be very happy,” Kendle looks Lenny in the face, but doesn’t quite meet his eye. 

“I am,” Lenny responds looking directly above Kendle’s left shoulder.


	3. 2000: Chapter 2

Lenny is trying very hard to feel happy for Kendle. He had a job at the London office of their travel company, with a salary twice as big as Lenny’s, but it turned out too dull, so he moved on to work in the office of a modern radio station. That’s where he met his girlfriend, a sound engineer; and he knows a lot of fun people. He obviously doesn’t need a dusty old guy like Lenny in his new and exciting life. 

“Can a girl be a sound engineer?” Gilby asks. 

“Why not?” Kendle sounds a bit irritated. “There’s no law against it.”

“What does she look like?” Vic goes on questioning him. 

“Um, normal.”

“Blonde or brunette?”

“Yes,” Kendle responds absently.

“So which one?”

“Um, blonde.”

“Nice,” Vic nods with an air of an expert. “Big tits?”

“Um. Sort of. Yes. Can’t complain.”

“Nancy has big tits,” Lenny interrupts. There must be something good about his life. 

Vic waves him off. “Everyone here has seen your Nancy. She has big everything.” He sniggers. 

“And I prefer it that way!”

“Whatever you say, mate. That’s your wife.”

“Exactly,” Lenny says pointedly. He would have appreciated a little more support from his friends. It unexpectedly comes from Kendle. 

“I thought she was pretty. She does look a bit like the ginger one from the Spice Girls. We had her for an interview at the station.”

“Wow, the sexy one,” Vic reacts immediately. “What’s she like?” 

“She asked for a Coke, and I brought her one from the machine. Had to pay for it out of my own pocket.”

“And then?”

“Well, she took the Coke and thanked me.” 

“I’d have asked her out, even if she said no, just for the sake of it,” Vic says dreamily. 

“But Kendle already has a girlfriend,” Gilby reminds him. 

“Nancy and I met that guy from Coronation Street when we went to Cyprus for our honeymoon,” Lenny puts in again. Kendle is not the only one who knows some celebrities.

“You’ve told this story a thousand times!” Tommy moans. 

“But Kendle hasn’t heard it. So, we were on the beach, and I had to watch Stu and Matty, because Nancy went to get us all ice-cream. Stuart was playing in the sand like a good boy, and Matty started going: ‘Where’s my mummy, where’s my mummy?’ He did it all the time on that trip if she left for more than five minutes. He even wanted to sleep in our bed, can you imagine the romance? So, he was getting louder and louder, and people started looking at us, like I kidnapped those children or something. Especially that old guy in a huge straw hat, he kept staring at me and muttering under his nose. So I went: ‘Do you have a problem, mate?’ He said: ‘Yeah, can you keep him quiet?’ And I said: ‘No, ‘cause he is a kid, and that’s what he does, and I bet if you were in a foreign country for the first time in your life you’d be crying for your mummy, too’. He went: ‘I don’t give a shit’, and I went: ‘I don’t give a shit that you don’t give a shit’. So he got up, and I got up, and he took off his hat. And that’s when I recognised him! ‘I’ve seen you on the telly,’ I said, ‘you are that bloke from Coronation Street. Or maybe the EastEnders’. But he was too pissed off to admit it.”

“So, long story short,” Tommy concludes. “He punched Lenny on the nose and left. And he wasn’t even from the telly.”

“He was!”

Kendle laughs out loudly. “That’s a great story, though.”

“Thanks. See, Kendle’s got a sense of humour, unlike you idiots.” 

It’s the first time he and Kendle meet each other’s eye and don’t look away at once. Lenny’s mouth runs sour, he wants him back so badly. 

* * *

They stay until Rob kicks hem out of the pub. The others say goodbye and leave Lenny alone with Kendle on the doorstep. Kendle giggles.

“’I’m telling you, you’re from Coronation Street!’ – ‘No, I’m not!’ – ‘I’ll prove it to you then!’” He quotes in a slurred voice. “That poor bloke, he must’ave had no idea what you were talking about!”

“I’m one hundred percent sure ‘t was him.”

“Imagine ‘t was him, an’ he was like, I hate my fans, I’ll hide some place where no one knows me, and then he had to punch you to get away.”

“Yeah, that was it! That’s why he was wearing that ugly hat. Like a bird’s nest. And an ugly mustache, like a Russian spy.”

“I hate a mustache. You can’t kiss with a mustache, it’s scratchy.” 

“I don’t have one.”

Kendle scrutinises him. “No,” he agrees.

“It’s fine then.” Lenny stumbles forward and kisses him. Kendle puts his fingers into Lenny’s hair, wanders over his ears and clings at his neck at last. “Let’s go to a hotel,” Lenny whispers. 

“What do you mean, a hotel?” Kendle stares at him in surprise.

“Like a room. With a bed.” 

Kendle lets go of him. “What for?”

“Well, you know,” Lenny trails off. This idea came to him suddenly from a film he had seen with Nancy a while ago. Lenny has never felt the need to spend the night at a hotel with someone. Can you do that here in Salford at all? What would they say if he and Kendle requested a room with a double bed for a couple of hours? 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Kendle steps away from him. “Your wife won’t like it.”

“We won’t tell her.” It sounds wrong even while the words come out of his mouth. 

Kendle shakes his head. “It’s not fair. I must go home.” He walks away, almost breaking into a run. 

“What about me?” Lenny shouts after him. The beautiful moment when Lenny could hold him close and pretend nothing has changed is slipping away. “Wait! They cancelled our bus stop.”

Kendle halts, but doesn’t turn around to face him. Lenny walks over to him slowly. 

“The bus service’s been terrible. You have to walk to the main road to catch a night bus.” Lenny pauses. “You can stay at our house. There’s a couch in the living room.”

“Your wife will be there!” Kendle whispers in terror. 

“It’s late, she’ll be asleep. We’ll just talk. Like the good old times, eh?” Lenny tries a smile and a wink. 

“I can’t! What if she asks me, ‘How was your evening, dear’? I can’t lie! I’ll turn red and sweat, and she’ll see right through me!”

“We haven’t done anything! Yet.”

Kendle doesn’t say no at once – that’s something. 

“It doesn’t seem right, lying like that.”

Lenny puts an arm around his shoulder and whispers:

“No, no, Kendle, it’s not lying, it’s like – d’you know Spiderman or Batman?” (Stu and Matt are crazy about comic books.) “They all had this secret identity. They had their normal day life, and then they had an extraordinary secret life at night, but they couldn’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not sure cheating on your wife is the same thing as being a superhero.”

“Don’t say ‘cheating’, it’s not, because we’ve done it before. It’s just – it’s like time travel.”

If Kendle agrees, he will have to go back home in the morning and invent a lie to tell Nancy. And she might believe him, or think that he’d spent the night drinking at Vic’s. She will be mad at him for a while, but it will never occur to her that he has slept with Kendle. 

“I shouldn’t have come. I hoped–” Kendle rubs his face. “Yeah, time travel. I had this picture in my head where I’d go back to five years ago, and nothing’d have changed. But you’ve moved on, and I’ve moved on. Everything’s different.”

After a pause, Lenny says. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop.” 

The streets are dark and empty at this time of night. They walk side by side. Lenny kicks an empty can and it rattles away so loudly he startles himself. The easiness is gone. It’s awkward again, like sitting next to a fleeting acquaintance on a train for three hours, when it’s impolite to ignore each other, but you have nothing in common to talk about. 

“Is it true that the London office rips us off?” Lenny asks. 

“Pff, they rip everyone off!” Kendle is glad to find a safe topic at last. “They think you can survive in London with the money they’re paying you, when it’s hardly enough for a shithole of a shared apartment an hour and a half from the City. And they demand you look smart every day, I mean really smart, so my dad’s old suit was out of the question, I had to buy a new one. And then my boss was like, ‘Are you going to wear that every day, Mr. Baines?’”, Kendle quotes him in a mock accent. “Stupid posh prick, that’s what I told him.”

“Serves him right!”

“I thought about you, you know. What’d Lenny do? He’d stand up for himself, so I did.”

Lenny gives him a squeeze and pats his back. “That’s my boy. They can stick their job up their arse! You are doing great without them.” 

“Hmm,” Kendle nods. “Listen, Lenny… Sorry, could I borrow a couple of quid for the bus?”

“Sure.” Lenny reluctantly reaches for his pocket: it’s been a long evening with several rounds, and he has to pay for Matty’s school trip tomorrow and still survive until his payday. “What happened to your money? You earn twice as much as I do!”

“Sorry. I forgot my wallet. I’ll pay you back, I promise. Thanks.” He tucks the note into his jeans pocket. 

“Are you alright?”

“Of course.” Kendle looks around. “I need to pee.” 

“Me too,” Lenny agrees. “All that beer must get out.”

They find cover behind the bushes next to the school’s football field. They scramble through the clinging undergrowth. A broken bottle cracks under Lenny’s foot. In the faint light of a street lamp he looks down to see torn plastic bags, thin syringes and a couple of used condoms. And he lets Stuart come and play here. 

“Oh, bliss,” Lenny exhales when he can finally relax his bladder. Next to him, Kendle does the same, and they enjoy the moment in silent camaraderie. As they zip up, Lenny kicks one of the condoms with the tip of his boot: “Someone’s crazy enough to shag here.”

“At least it’s cheaper than a hotel,” Kendle gives a short laugh. 

“Would you do that?”

Kendle pretends to consider the question in all seriousness. “If I were desperate enough. Would you?”

Lenny snorts. “Nah. Maybe a wank, tops.”

It stinks in those bushes. They should leave, but it feels like they’re conducting tentative negotiations, and any sudden move ruin them.

“Does a wank count as sex?” Kendle asks. 

“No,” Lenny responds quickly. 

“It’s darker over there,” Kendle points to a place behind a tree. 

They move in a unspoken agreement. Kendle leans with his back against the tree and opens the buttons on his jeans one by one. Lenny unzips his trousers. They are both watching their hands intently. None makes a move to kiss or touch, at least not yet. They agreed on a wank; it’s in that grey zone where you could still say ‘nothing happened’ and not be a complete liar. 

Kendle pushes his pants down. He closes his eyes, like he always did, because Lenny hated being watched during sex, and begins jerking himself off. His cock starts to swell. 

Lenny places one hand on the crusty tree bark above his shoulder to steady himself. What is he going to tell Nancy? He tugs at his soft cock desperately. 

“It must be all that beer. Give it more time.” 

“No problem,” Kendle whispers. 

God, this isn’t working for him. It’s cold, and it stinks like piss, but Kendle might be gone tomorrow, and he must use this chance. He wants to be in bed with him, at home, warm and cuddly, not in a dark alleyway like a junkie or a punter. Kendle starts in surprise as Lenny leans on him with the whole weight of his body.

“Come here,” he urges Kendle to grab his arse, to start moving. His hard cock digs into Lenny’s stomach. 

“This bloody tree, I’ll get a burn on my butt.” Kendle pushes himself up and seeks Lenny’s lips. He feels for Lenny’s cock to rub them together. This used to be one of their favourite things; it would work much better if Lenny could get it up. He just needs another minute. 

“Huh?” Kendle asks as Lenny pulls away. 

“I wanna suck you off.” Lenny haunches in front of Kendle and licks him up the shaft while he jerks at his own cock. Oh yes, there you are, baby. 

Kendle’s legs tremble. He bends his knees following the rhythm and exhales an ‘Oh!’ every time Lenny reaches his cockhead. He digs his fingers into Lenny’s shoulder. His balls twitch, he’s almost there. Lenny beats his own cock faster. He’ll ask Kendle to suck him off afterwards, to cum into his wet hot mouth, oh fuck, he’s so close. 

“Who’s there?” someone barks, and a beam of light hits the alleyway. Lenny backs away instinctively, still hunched, and stops breathing. The torchlight jerks left and right until it falls onto Kendle’s face, then drops to his open pants. “Hey, you pervert! Stay where you are!”

Two policemen climb through the bushes. 

“Run!” Lenny whispers. As the light sways away for a second, he jumps to his feet and over the dry burdock. He runs as fast as his lungs and his legs would permit. Not the police, he can’t be caught, pumps through his head, no-no-no, not with Kendle. Nancy, and the kids, and his job, and his mates – he runs for his life. 

He stops only because he is out of breath. He leans against a brick wall in a dark ally and gasps for air. Everything is quiet. He is safe. 

Where is Kendle? 

He looks around listening for the sound of his steps. Maybe Kendle just fell behind. Maybe he got lost? Lenny waits and waits, but it’s useless. He could go back to the football grounds. What if the police is still there? What if they ambush him? What if Kendle told them everything?

He starts walking slowly. His legs resist every step, as if it were a bad dream where you are anxious to run and cannot. The burrs from those bushes stick all over his trousers. While he walks, he tries to clean himself up, but every thorny little ball clings onto him for dear life. Lenny shakes his hands and swings his arms, but the thorns stay with him. 

It takes a while to find his way back. Lenny stops at a dark street corner opposite the school. The air is very still, he can hear the humming of the distant cars on the main road. 

He crosses the street and walks past the metal net fence pausing every five meters to listen. 

“Kendle?” he calls quietly as he reaches the alleyway. There is no one there. “Kendle!”

No response. It’s useless. 

Maybe Kendle couldn’t find him and returned home? He must have. What else would he do, sleep outside?

Lenny must go home, too. 

* * *

Lenny washes his face with hot water and rubs at his mouth and hands wildly, then brushes his teeth. He puts a hand to his mouth, breathes out and sniffs at it. Does it smell like Kendle? He brushes his teeth again for the whole five minutes, just as he teaches the boys and never does himself. What happened to Kendle? They should’ve gone to a hotel, or not have done it at all. What kind of an idiot does it in the street? Kendle must have led a wild life in London, if it’s not a problem to him, but Lenny is a different story. He has a family and a steady job, and could lose them in a second. Never, ever will he be allured into such an affair again. It’s all Kendle’s fault. The police almost caught them with their pants down, for fuck’s sake! Lenny shudders and spits out the toothpaste. 

On his way to the bedroom, he checks on the boys. The nightlight over Stuart’s bed is on; he is asleep on his stomach, hugging a toy Spiderman. Matt is wrapped in his duvet like a giant caterpillar.

Lenny climbs in bed with Nancy and hugs her from behind. He pulls up her nightgown and warms his hand at her soft belly. 

“Are you asleep?” he whispers. 

“What time is it?” she mutters. 

“Not very late.” He kisses her shoulder. “C’mon, give us a cuddle.”

She turns over. “Eww, Lenny, you stink. I told you I hate it when you’re drunk.”

“It was only a couple of beers. You look beautiful.”

“You can’t see me, it’s too dark.”

“You always look beautiful.” He slips in his hand between her thighs. She crosses her legs. 

“Get out.”

“What if I just gave you a long deep goodnight kiss?” He brushes his thumb against her panties.

“Lenny, it’s late, I’m tired, and you’re drunk.”

“I love you, though.” He buries his head between her springy breasts and gives her a proper squeeze. 

This night with Kendle never happened.


	4. 2000: Chapter 3

“Mum! Stuart took my toast!”

“Get yourself another one!”

“It was my toast, I made it for myself! Mu-um!” 

“You are greedy! And mean!”

“Don’t steal my toast!”

Lenny pretends not to hear the sounds of the quarrel from the kitchen. He is sitting on the bed resting his forehead in his palms. That last pint was one too much. 

“Mummy!” Stuart squalls. 

“Lenny, what’s going on down there?” Nancy shouts from the bathroom. He sighs and gets up. 

“I’m coming!” he threatens as he walks down the stairs.

“Dad! Matt hit me!” Stuart runs up to him, a squashed piece of bread in his hand, and hugs him. “Look, right here!” 

“Matt, never hit your brother!”

“He took my toast!”

“Ow! It hu-urts!” Stuart cries. 

“It was his fault!” Matt stomps his foot.

“Shut up and get yourself another toast,” Lenny cuts him off. “Here, Stu, let me see.” He examines his arm. “You’ll live, nothing happened.”

“Why me?!” Matt doesn’t give up. 

“Because you’re older and should have more sense!”

“Because you’re mean, that’s why! Dad said so!” Stuart discovers a burr stuck to Lenny’s trousers and shoots it at Matt. “Sticky attack!”

“Dad, tell him not to throw things at me!”

In the meantime, Stuart finds more missiles. How many are there? Lenny thought he cleaned himself up quite thoroughly last night. Matt picks out the burrs stuck his hair and fires back. Stuart shrieks and hides behind Lenny. Matt lunges to kick him. 

Matt’s trained foot in a heavy size 5 boot is a serious weapon, and it lands on Lenny’s calf. “Ouch! For God’s sake! Give it to me,” Lenny grabs the bread out of Stuart’s hand and throws it into the bin. Matt lets out a wail.

“It was mine!”

“Stop this at once, or I’ll get really mad!” Lenny yells.

Stuart stops immediately. He carefully attaches the last missile where he found it – onto Lenny’s trouser pocket, hugs him around the waist and looks up with his honest blue eyes. 

“I’m good, am I?”

“Yes, you are. Now sit down and be quiet.”

Stuart takes his place and folds his arms in front of him on the table. 

“You ruined my toast!” Matt never knows when to stop. “You can’t do that! It was mine!”

“Matt, let it go!” Lenny snaps. “What have I told you? You’ll get in real trouble!”

“I want my toast back!” He clenches his fists. “I want it back!” His voice rises to a scream. 

Oh, here we go again. Lenny breathes out slowly, because shouting will make it ten times worse. 

“It was cold and messy, Matt. You don’t want it.” 

“I do!”

“Then take it.”

Matt stares at the bin for a couple of seconds, but doesn’t make a move. 

“You ruined it!” he says plaintively. 

“Sorry about that, but it was ruined already. I’ll make you a new one.”

“I won’t eat it.”

Lenny puts two fresh pieces of bread into the toaster anyway and pushes the handle down. 

“Okay, what do you want it with?”

Stuart waves his hand. “I want jam and butter! No, cheese! With jam!” 

“Matt?”

“I won’t eat it,” he mutters stubbornly under his nose. 

The toaster dings. Lenny takes out the bread. 

“Okay, you don’t have to.” He finishes the toast for Stuart while Matt keeps repeating at regular intervals: “I won’t eat it. I want my toast. You ruined it.”

“Matt, ham and cheese, as always?” Lenny puts in in between. 

“I won’t eat it!”

“Then you will starve,” Stuart offers gleefully. 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Lenny tells him: anything but another round of fighting and screaming. “Come on, sit down,” he puts an arm around Matt, but he shakes it off. Lenny sits at the table next to him. “Here’s your toast, fresh and warm.”

“I won’t eat it, it’s not mine!”

“Look, it’s the same as the other one, it comes from the same package.”

“It’s not the same!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s different! You made it.”

“The toaster made it. It was on the same setting you had before. So what’s different about it?”

Matt pokes at the sandwich. “I don’t know. It tastes different!”

“You eat a different toast every day. You don’t have a problem with that?” Matt shakes his head. “Will you have this one? Come on, while it’s still warm. Does it smell nice?” After a pause, Matt nods, although he still looks unhappy. “Ham and cheese?”

“Cheese and ham. Cheese first.”

“Of course! It has to melt.” Lenny hurriedly opens a pack of sliced cheese before Matt has changed his mind. 

“And cut off the edges.”

“Like this?”

Matt regards the slice of cheese suspiciously. “Yeah.”

“Will you eat it?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank God. But quick, or you’ll be late for school.” Lenny ruffles his short hair and gets up.

“Dad!” Stuart bangs his palms on the table and pushes away his half-eaten toast. “I don’t want it! Yuk! Cut off the edges for me, too!”

“Oh, you don’t want it? Then I’ll have it. I’m so hungry!” Lenny pretends to steal the toast from his plate. 

“No, no! I’ll eat it! Give it back!” Stuart cries eagerly. Matt smiles and chews on his toast steadily. 

* * *

While Nancy has her breakfast (a restful cup of coffee in front of the morning TV show, not a battle with two wild ruffians), Lenny takes the said ruffians to school. He stops at the corner from where they can see the school building. 

“Okay, that’s it. You can walk alone from here.”

“But mum said you must bring us all the way to school,” Matt protests. 

“Can you see it from here?” 

Matt nods.

“Do you know how to cross the street?” 

“Yeah.”

“Then take your brother’s hand and don’t let go of him until you’re past the gate. Stuart, listen to Matt for once. I’ll watch you.” He makes scary eyes at him. Stuart laughs and reaches up, so that Lenny would give him a kiss. 

“Have fun, pet. Bye, Matty.”

“Bye.” Matt is not big on hugging. 

Lenny hurries to the pay phone on the corner: that’s why he chose to stop here. He couldn’t call from home with Nancy around. Quickly he dials the Baines’ house number. It rings, and rings. Lenny redials. Are they all dead? After a dozen times, someone picks up and grunts:

“Huh?”

“Good morning, Mr. Baines!” Lenny involuntarily slips into his professionally friendly tone. “How are you doing?”

“The hell d’you want in the middle of the night?”

“It’s eight – nevermind. Mr. Baines, sorry to bother you. It’s Lenny, Lenny Smart, remember me? I called you a couple of times, we had a chat? I just wanted to have a quick word with Kendle. It’s very urgent.”

“Wait a sec. Kendle!” Mr. Baines roars into the microphone. Lenny winces and covers the loudspeaker at his end. “Kendle!!! Wake up! Nope.”

“Could you please check if he is in his room? Please, much obliged, thank you.”

Mr. Baines walks off. Lenny chews on his thumb while he listens to him stomping away and back.

“Nope, he ‘asn’t slept in. Must be out with his junkie friends again.”

“That would be us,” Lenny mutters under his nose.

“What did you say?” Mr. Baines shouts as if he were talking to a French waiter who didn’t understand English.

“Nothing.”

“Comes back from London with a tail between his legs and wants a bed, and money, and whatnot, like I’m working to feed his lazy arse while he fucks around. Tell him he won’t get a penny from me, ‘cause he just wants to do the same shit here he did in London.”

“Yeah, will do, thanks, Mr. Baines, bye-bye.” Lenny drops the receiver like a hot brick. “Phew. Nice talking to you, Mr. Baines.”

* * *

At nine a.m. that day, new all-inclusive safaris go on sale. At eleven a.m., a posh old bugger walks in and asks for a vacation advice. For a whole hour Lenny talks at length about the wonderful Kenyan landscapes, bestows on him several brochures; he even enacts a dramatic wildlife scene involving daddy lion (Lenny), mummy lion (Nancy) and Mr. Lion Hunter as self. He doesn’t let the moneybag out of his claws until he gets a 100% pre-payment on the most luxurious trip available. By the end of this battle they are both sweating as if they had just returned from the savannah. Mr. Safari leaves the shop slightly confused by the amount of cash he just handed over to Mr. Smart. Lenny lays back in his chair with a victor’s grin.

“Well done, Mr. Smart,” Nancy claps her hands. “I think you’ve earned a reward. What do you want for lunch?”

Lenny asks for a tuna sandwich – no, make it two, thanks, darling – and watches Nancy cross the road to the bakery. As soon as she is gone, he picks up the phone. Is it too early to call the police? Well, the worst that can happen, they’ll tell him to piss off. He starts dialing the number. 

The shop-bell rings. Lenny looks up.

“Kendle! Have you been trampled over by a herd of elephants?”

Kendle’s chalk-white face is accentuated by a black eye; his yesterday’s light-blue jeans and a white T-shirt are grey with dirt. He slams the door shut. 

“Very fucking funny!” he yells. His voice is rough. 

“What happened to you?” Lenny comes closer, but Kendle steps back. He stinks of sweat, smoke and sick.

“Like you care!” 

“Like I do! I came back looking for you, I phoned your dad, I was about to call the police! Where were you?”

Kendle takes a deep breath and speaks a little calmer.

“They arrested me.”

“What?!” 

“I spent the night in jail with crazy junkies and homeless people who had their last bath ten years ago! One of them threw up on me!”

“No, wait, stop shouting.” Lenny takes his shoulders, leads him to a chair and pushes him down. “What have you told them? Why did they arrest you?”

“Public indecency!”

“Lenny’s head starts spinning, so he grabs it.

“No-no-no, you didn’t tell them about me?!”

“Is that all you care about?”

Lenny waves a hand in front of Kendle’s face. “Focus! Have you told the police about me?” 

“No!” Kendle snaps. “They didn’t ask!”

“Oh, thank God,” Lenny exhales and leans on his desk. Kendle jumps up again.

“You prick! They thought I was a paedophile, you know that? I’d rather they caught us fucking in the alley!” Kendle wipes his nose on the sleeve of his leather jacket and notices it’s torn. “Oh shit.” Suddenly tears start rolling down his face. 

“Nonsense! Why’d they think that? Oh, stop crying, it’s not that bad.” Lenny throws a cautious glance at the shop window, puts his arms around Kendle and pats his back. 

“Someone complained there was a suspicious man lurking around the school,” Kendle’s body twitches in hiccups. “An exhibitionist. And last night they caught me with my pants down, of course, they figured it was me! Because you ran away!”

“Wait, around our school? I sent Matt and Stu there alone this morning! I need to check something.”

Lenny turns to the phone. Kendle starts sobbing uncontrollably. 

“Shh!” Lenny gestures at the receiver at his ear. “Hello, good morning! It’s Mr. Smart here. Could you be so kind and check whether my kids are in class? Thank you so much. Will you call me back?”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Nancy chooses that very moment to walk in. 

“Nothing!” Lenny quickly puts down the phone. Kendle turns away to hide his face, but Nancy has already noticed his black eye. 

“My God! What happened to you, love?”

“I fell,” he mutters: the least believable excuse ever. Of course, Nancy doesn’t buy it, but she is too polite to say so. 

“Oh.” She nods and looks at Lenny. “Did you have fun last night?” He almost chokes. “Was it a quiet evening?” 

Lenny resumes breathing. Perfect, now she thinks they started a bar fight or something, but at least she doesn’t suspect the worst. He needs a better explanation.

“Well,” he begins. “Kendle didn’t want to tell anyone, but what actually happened was, er… his dad happened.”

Kendle winces. “My dad?”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s normally not too bad,” Lenny explains, “only when he’s had a drink.”

“You poor thing! Do you want anything? Sit down, have a cup of tea.”

“No, thanks,” Kendle shakes his head violently. “I came just to ask Lenny for a ticket to London. I was planning to stay a bit longer, but it makes no sense now.” His voice is still hoarse. 

“Sure.” Lenny coughs as the word gets stuck in his throat. 

Nancy has convinced Kendle to have Lenny’s sandwich, and he chews on it in silence while Lenny prints out the ticket. 

“Thanks,” Kendle says quietly. “I’ll pay you back. And the five quid for the bus.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I will, don’t worry. Right,” he gets up. “Thanks for everything.”

Nancy gives him a hug. “Take care of yourself. Do you have any clean clothes?”

Lenny cannot make himself move, shake Kendle’s hand, say goodbye. There is no alternative he can offer Kendle: it is best for everyone if he leaves. The phone rings, and he is glad to look away from Kendle’s beaten face. 

“Yes? They are both in class? Thanks a lot. You too have a nice day. Bye-bye!”

When he is off the phone, Kendle is already gone. The first time round, it was the worst: they never said goodbye, never agreed to stay in touch. One day Kendle was there, filling every day of his life, at work and at home, and the next he disappeared like it was all a drunken dream. 

“Wait!” Lenny exclaims for Nancy’s benefit. “This idiot forgot his train ticket!” He grabs a folded piece of paper from the desk to hide the package in his hand and runs off after Kendle.

“Wait!” he pants as he catches up with Kendle at a street crossing. “That’s for you.” He pushes the paper into his hands. 

“What’s that?” Kendle unfolds it and stares at the money. 

“I made a good deal today, a safari, one hundred percent down payment." 

"Congratulations.”

"Keep the money.”

“I can’t – I don’t need it. I have a job, it’s just I forgot–”

“Really?” Lenny asks. Kendle lowers his eyes. 

“I can’t take it, Lenny, it’s too much. You’ll need to hand it over to the bank.”

“I have some savings. And you’ll repay me later, won’t you? At least this way you’ll have to stay in touch.” He tries to smile. 

“I will. Thanks.” 

“Write to me. Or better call me. You know my number?”

“I do.”

“It’s no fun wondering whether you’re dead or alive.” Lenny laughs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. They start into a handshake, but end up in an awkward hug.

“I’m sorry, Lenny,” Kendle whispers. “I’ll miss you.”


	5. 2005: Chapter 1

“Hey, mate, where do these boxes go?” the huge mover shouts from the shop. His voice echoes in the empty room. Lenny emerges from the storage with a cellotape roll in his hands trying to catch its end with his nail and failing. 

“Um,” he looks around at the assortment of boxes and bin bags. “These ones are trash, and this one’s pens and pencils and other stationery junk. They demand for it to be returned to the main office. Stick it up their petty arses for me, please,” he adds under his breath.

The mover chuckles and picks up the box. 

“Sounds like you have a thing against your bosses, mate.”

“Former bosses. Fifteen bloody years, best salesman 1999, and two months ago I suddenly find out I ‘don’t have the necessary qualifications’, because I didn’t go to college,” Lenny explains bitterly. 

“Wow, that sucks,” the mover nods. “I started working straight after school; never stopped me from getting things done.”

“The times change, eh?”

“Don’t take it personally, mate. Happens a lot lately: the shop closed, everyone sacked.”

“Not everyone,” Lenny gives up on the cellotape and throws it into one of the open boxes. “My wife got promoted to the new office they opened in the shopping mall. Well, my ex-wife. Can’t get used to the word.”

And he should: it’s not the first time his marriage fails. When Nina ran off soon after their wedding, he could write it off as bad luck. But if Nancy left after nine years and with two kids, it can only mean that there is something deeply wrong with Lenny. 

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Lenny,” he introduces himself. It’s nice to talk to a human soul, even if it’s a mover who cannot escape until he has finished his job. 

“Paul,” he rests the box on his tattooed shoulder with ease, and they shake hands. When Lenny packed that box full of unused brochures, he could hardly move it across the room. Another point he loses. “And that’s John,” Paul points to his colleague who has just walked in. “My little brother.”

John can hardly be called little, but he is unmistakably Paul’s brother: they have the same broad shoulders (although John’s without the tattoos) bulging under the sleeveless company vests, the same short blond hair, the same reddish complexion.

“John,” Lenny also shakes his hand, “and Paul. Do you happen to have another two brothers called George and Ringo, by any chance?”

“Our mother wished, but no, there’s only us,” Paul laughs. “She was crazy about them in the 60s.”

“At least something I got right,” Lenny smiles weakly.

The brothers are working efficiently – too efficiently. Quickly they have taken away everything including the dismembered dummies that once represented a happy couple on a beach in the window display (the sign “Last minute deals – start packing now!” has gone to trash).

“What about this?” Paul indicates an inflatable mattress, the only thing that’s left from the display. He is about to pick it up, but Lenny rushes forward. 

“No, leave it.”

“Right then,” Paul looks around. “That’ll be all?”

Lenny signs all the forms he is required to sign and sends fifteen years of his life off in a truck. As they drive off, Pauls leans out of the window.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he waves goodbye. 

Lenny returns to his former shop. Every little noise, every step resounds in the bare room. He drags the mattress back to the storage room where he keeps his travel bag. You work all your life, you try to start a family (twice), and that’s what you end up with: a discoloured rubber mattress and a ten-pound bag of private possessions. He sits down on the mattress and stares into the air. 

It’s the last night he can spend at the office. He left the house to Nancy: the kids need it more than he does, at least while they are at school. He could go back and ask to sleep on the couch, Nancy won’t turn him out. But he has already told her he had found a place to stay, and it is too embarrassing to admit that he has been sleeping in the storage room for a month because no one would have him. 

Tom doesn’t come down to the pub as often as he used to. Too much work, he said, as he missed one Thursday, and then the next, and the next. They run into each other once in a while – it’s hard not to when you live a few streets away – but you cannot ask Tommy for a favour, he is always too busy. 

Gilby has the second baby coming in a couple of months, and with Shannon starting school this year, Alice is not happy about guests. Also, Alice is a friend of Nancy’s, so staying with them is out of the question. At least Gilby said sorry and got drunk with Lenny after the divorce came through. 

Well, about that night: it was a bit of a relief, not having to dwell on his failures, to get plastered to the point where he couldn’t even make it from Vic’s couch to the bathroom. After that, Vic was evicted from his council flat and went to stay with his new girlfriend, Liliann, and her old mum. No place for Lenny there either. 

Without a job, he cannot rent, and it’s too late to start looking for a place anyway. He kept putting it off until there was no time left in the hope that Nancy would come to her senses. She hasn’t. Now the only option is to sleep in the street. Or he could give up food and pay for a hostel. 

Lenny finds an open bottle of brandy in his bag, takes a swig and puts it next to him. He then curls up on the slippery mattress and pulls his jacket over his head. 

_“Dear Kendle,”_ he thinks. It has become a habit of his since he received the first envelope with a postcard and a fifty-pound note inside. Next month, another one, and another, until Kendle’s debt was repaid in full. There was never a letter, and no phone call either, only a card with a few words: “Dear Lenny, thank you so much. I found a job and a flat, here is my new address. Best, Kendle.” These messages didn’t sound like Kendle at all. He was alive and not sleeping in a ditch, that was as much as you could gather from them. 

It was weird, corresponding with him in writing. Lenny didn’t know what to say, so he wrote something superficial - weather, health and a bit of local gossip, because he had a vague idea that’s what letters were supposed to be like. They exchanged Christmas and birthday cards. Lenny posted his dutifully, but with a sense of growing disappointment. If Kendle sat next to him in a pub, he would have so much to tell him, but how do you share it with a blank piece of paper? It doesn’t answer, doesn’t laugh with you. So he would imagine Kendle as he was back when they lived together, silly and excited, and tell him things. _“Dear Kendle, you should have seen that idiot of a client I had today! He was convinced that Austria and Australia were the same place, and nothing could change his mind.” “Dear Kendle, I think I might have a mid-life crisis, or it might just be a bad hangover. Everything makes me feel sick.” “Dear Kendle, Nancy stopped talking to me – again. Women, eh?”_

The last card Lenny sent was for Kendle’s birthday in May. _“Happy birthday, dear Kendle, all the best, I hope you are doing fine in your metropolitan life.”_ After thinking long and hard about it, he added: _“P.S. I’m getting divorced.”_ He couldn’t think of anything else to write, because there was no way you could put that into words. 

Lenny was not sure what he was hoping for. A knock on the door, maybe. Or a compassionate phone call. Something. There was no response, nothing at all. That must have been Kendle’s polite way of putting an end to their frustrating pen friendship. He must have taken the card as hint, which it wasn’t, and thought: no, not again, I’m not going back. 

_“Dear Kendle, I’m in deep shit. I have no home, no job and no friends. Love, Lenny”_

The air is hot and stuffy, his back aches from lying on the mattress, he is hungry and tired. If he died right now, it wouldn’t make a difference. They’d find his stiff body tomorrow, rolled up on the floor, and good luck with getting rid of the stench. This is all he’d leave behind, a foul dead stink. 

He could actually die today: he is not that young anymore, his blood pressure is not great. Come on, let’s have a heart attack already! Then he won’t have to worry about food or money or a roof above his head. Come on, let’s die now! Lenny’s heart is racing, he can hardly breathe under the jacket; the end is so close and so real. Everybody left him; he will die alone. He weeps and chokes with tears and cannot hold them back. 

* * *

“Hey!” someone shakes him awake unpleasantly. Lenny tries to roll away, but the impudent fellow doesn’t let go. “Hey! Who are you, and where is Mr. Smart?”

“Mr. Smart’s dead,” Lenny mumbles and tries to hide his head under a pillow, but there is no pillow, only the rubber surface of the mattress. 

“Are you Mr. Smart?” the fellow deduces. How very clever. “How long have you been sleeping here? I’ll have to put that on the sheet. That’s not a living accommodation, you’ll risk a fine for property misuse.”

Office hand-over, Lenny deduces in turn and sits up abruptly. A migraine kicks in instantly, so that Lenny has to clutch and steady his head. That cheap brandy was pure poison.

“Are you from the estate agent’s?” he asks the young man in a polyester suit and a tie which must be killing him in the mid-summer heat. 

“No, I represent the main office,” the boy says pompously. He looks even younger than Kendle when he started working here ten years ago. Do they hire schoolchildren as temps now? “The estate agent will be here in a minute, so you better collect your possessions and, um, other things.” He nudges the empty bottle with the tip of his dusty boot. 

Lenny smoothes down his curly hair which probably doesn’t improve his appearance much, but at least gives him a feeling that he has tried. He gets up and stuffs the bottle into his bag. He has no time to deflate the mattress, because the shop bell rings again announcing the estate agent. 

The man is older and more in control of his facial expression. He examines Lenny from head to toe impassively and hands over the forms for him to sign. When the formalities are finished, Lenny returns the keys to the agent, and then he is left in the street alone, with a bag in his hand and a mattress under his arm.

The shop window is dark and dull. What a pity they’ve taken away their gorgeous display. Lenny had personally tanned those dummies with brown shoe wax. They almost felt like family after he had spent hours rubbing at their most intimate body parts. And the sand for the mini-beach – Kendle and he had to steal it from a construction site, because the main office refused to fund their creative efforts. Kendle managed to fall into fresh concrete headfirst, and Lenny had to cut his hair over a wastebin. God, did Kendle look stupid with his hair cropped!

People start turning their heads at his mattress, so Lenny puts it down to let the air out. He has nothing to do; the day stretches out in front of him as dull and empty as his former shop. 

Well, there are some things he needs to take care of: first, he has to find a place to sleep. But, on the other hand, he has a mattress, and the nights are warm, so that can wait. Second, the unemployment benefits, which involves waiting at the job centre for hours, answering humiliating questions and proving that he is in fact needy and helpless, expecting their verdict. They probably won’t even pay him until the next month, so he is screwed well and truly. His migraine returns with a wave of nausea as he tries to think it through. He sits down on the step of his former workplace. 

It is getting hotter as the sun rises towards the zenith and the shadow creeps away from Lenny. Soon he is sitting in the full blaze of the sun – not the best spot for someone with a hangover and a raging headache. So Lenny gets up, puts the bag on his shoulder and seeks refuge at the nearest newsagent’s. He buys a bottle of cooled water and gulps it down right there at the counter. The shopkeeper, a guy of Lenny’s age, lumpish and balding, turns back to his small TV as soon as he has put away the money. He and Nancy have been buying sandwiches from him for ages, but Lenny still doesn’t know his name. 

“We’ve closed,” he says to give himself a pretext to linger in the shop. 

“Oh, yes, I thought something is going on,” the shopkeeper nods without taking his eyes off the screen. 

“I guess we won’t be buying lunches from you now,” Lenny tries a smile. “That’s a pity. I liked your sandwiches.”

The guy turns his head and checks out his bag and untidy clothes. “Have one on the house. Gift for a good customer.” He points to the fridge. Has Lenny degraded to receiving charity that quickly? He doesn’t say no though. 

“Can you imagine that? Horrible!” the shopkeeper shakes his head. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Those bombs in London. Four of them, they say. Some dozen dead.”

“In London?” Lenny repeats. “Where?”

“Underground and a bus.”

Lenny leans on the counter to have a better view. They are showing a city map with the explosion sites marked with small cartoonish bombs. Lenny knows Kendle’s address by heart, he has scribbled it on the cards so many times, but he cannot place it on the map. Which route would Kendle take to work, could it be one of these?

The picture switches back to the remains of a red bus ripped open like a tin can. After Corporation Street was plowed by that IRA truck bomb – a year after Kendle left – Lenny and Nancy had to take a detour around the bombing site for months on their way to work. Where busy streets had been, suddenly there was a huge hole and a fence. No one died that day – the attack wasn’t meant to kill, only to shock – and shock it did. 

On the screen, people covered in blood and dust are led out of an underground station. 

“Dozens are still unaccounted for,” the reporter says. 

Today’s bombings were designed to hurt and destroy. And Kendle is right in the middle of it, where people are willing to turn others into a bloody mess and rip them open. Kendle is a master of disaster. Take any accident: concrete pits, broken ankles, a night in jail – he has done it all. If Kendle was on his way to work across London this morning – there is a chance he was on that bus or in that carriage. 

“Are you unwell?” the shopkeeper frowns. 

“I’ve got a friend in London,” Lenny has difficulty moving his lips. 

“Ai! You think he was there?” 

“No, I’m sure he wasn’t,” Lenny turns his back to the screen. They don’t show any dead people on the news, but what if they make an exception today and he has to see Kendle’s mutilated body?

“I need to go. Thanks for the sandwich,” he mutters and stumbles out into the street. For a minute, he is too shaken to decide which way to go. It’s sunny, no one is running around screaming, as if nothing had happened. 

He needs to check on Kendle; to see him with his own eyes and make sure he is fine. Lenny hurries to the train station. He doesn’t have much money, but it must be enough for a one-way ticket. At the station, he bypasses the queue at the ticket office. 

“One ticket to London, please, next train.”

The cashier rolls her eyes, then points to the huge screen with luminous green letters on the opposite wall. 

“All connections to London cancelled until further notice. Next, please.”

“What, all of them?”

“All stations in London shut down, haven’t you heard?” the cashier responds on the verge of her patience. 

“But I really need to get to London!” Lenny almost shouts. 

“Everyone needs to get to London. All connections cancelled–”

“It’s a question of life and death!”

“Next, please.”

* * *

Lenny steps away from the cashier’s window and rubs his face. Right, what next? A woman passes by him and almost rolls him over with her gigantic trolley bag. 

“Sorry!” she shouts and keeps on talking into her mobile phone. “No, dad, no trains at all. I don’t know for how long!”

A phone, of course! Lenny searches his pockets for his mobile. He must have Mr. Baines’ number somewhere. He called him several times in the past few years, but Mr. Baines never knew exactly what his son was doing – or had his own wild theories about that – not to mention Kendle’s phone number. It might be that Kendle simply wished to avoid talking to his dad, and who could blame him?

Finally Lenny finds his mobile and pushes the buttons at random. It’s dead: in the last days he had other things on his mind than charging his phone. 

“Fuck!” he almost throws the stupid gadget across the hall – but then he won’t have the money to buy a new one. Nevermind, he can go in person. Mr. Baines might be more reasonable if they talked face to face. 

Lenny has been to the Baines’ place only once, when Kendle’s mum died. It must be about half an hour by bus away, in one of the high-rise apartment blocks in Collyhurst. 

As the bus rolls along the streets, Lenny peers out of the window trying to recognise the house. They all look the same, dirty and ugly. He descends at the next stop and hopes that his feet will carry him to the right one. For sure, Kendle’s house was a bit further from the road, they had to walk for a while. And it had a funny colour. Pink maybe? Lenny heads to the first pink block he can see. 

Eight hours later the sun has set. Lenny has been on his feet all day, and what has it brought him? Nothing! What’s wrong with the modern world? People in the street shy away from him; no one knows who lives next door; when he tried ringing the buzzer, every single flat-owner told him to piss off. Lenny ate his only sandwich a few hours ago, and his stomach is turning from hunger. 

He feels like a zombie as he keeps on walking. To find the Baines’ house has become his only goal. If he gives it up, what will he do? It’s not like he has anything to go back to. 

Lenny stops in front of the next high-rise in the row. A dark-haired teenage boy is playing with a red Vespa: he pretends to ride it, flicks the switches and makes brrroom-brrroom noises. There is no one else around, so Lenny has no choice but to approach him. 

“Hey! Nice scooter.” The boy startles and jumps off the Vespa so quickly he almost falls over. He looks like he wants to run away. “Wait! I just need some help, I’m a bit lost.”

“Yeah?” the boys stares at him from under his bushy eyebrows. 

“Do you know Mr. Baines, by any chance?” 

“What, Kendle Baines?” 

“Yes, that’s the one!” There is still hope. “Do you know him?” Lenny comes a little closer. The boy steps back. 

“Are you his friend or what?”

“Sort of.”

Suddenly the boy takes off like a Formula 1 car and disappears into the house. 

“Wait! Oh, great.” Lenny kicks the metal fence. The building is twelve-storey high. How is he supposed to find the right flat? At least now he knows Kendle has lived here before. Come to think of it, isn’t it strange: the boy is not older than fourteen, and Kendle moved to London ten years ago, how on earth does he remember him? But nevermind that, Lenny has work to do. 

The lock turns out to be broken and the house door open. Lenny takes the lift to the top floor: Kendle certainly lived high up in the old days. When his mum had a sudden heart attack in her early forties, the lift broke and the paramedics had to carry her all the way down; that story went round and round at the funeral, as if it were the lift’s fault that she died. Or maybe it was, who knows. Although she looked so thin and fragile in her coffin, as if she hadn’t eaten for days, that it wouldn’t have been much trouble to carry her. 

She was younger than Lenny is now when she died. 

The lift rumbles up the shaft. From the scribbles on its walls that can hardly be called graffiti Lenny learns that ‘Hassan is a twat’ and that ‘Chelsey is a hore’ without a ‘w’. The doors open into a corridor with a half a dozen flats. As they were at Kendle’s, you could hear the lift’s metal screeching close by. Lenny tries the first door on his right without much hope for success. 

The bell interrupts the muffled sounds of a TV coming from inside. 

“The door!” someone snarls. When the other inhabitants give no response, he shouts again: “Get the bloody door!”

“I’m not fucking deaf!” the second one hisses. “I was in the loo!”

“What?! Stop mumbling!”

“I was in the loo!” he shouts at the top of his lungs in what is undoubtedly, beautifully Kendle’s voice. Lenny bangs on the door.

“Kendle!”

The person behind it throws it open at once and stares. “Lenny?”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it. What are you doing here? I’ve been wandering around for ages!” The bag on his shoulders suddenly feels like it will break his back. Lenny drops it on the floor. “Why aren’t you in London? You should be in London! I was sure you were, I was sure–” The whole purpose of this trip comes back to Lenny. He was so focused on finding the house that the bombings managed to escape his mind. He is so angry and tired it’s hard to feel happy. “I was sure you were dead. Why the hell aren’t you in London?”

“Why should I be dead?” Kendle asks. 

Why, really? There are millions of people in London, and the chance that Kendle would be in that carriage was slim, non-existent. How stupid. 

“The bombings,” Lenny explains curtly. 

“Oh. Dad’s been watching the news all day.”

“So what are they saying?” 

“More than forty died.”

“Shit.”

They fall silent. Kendle looks thinner. The baby fat is gone; instead he has gained rings under his eyes and a stubble. Better not to think how much Lenny has changed since the last time they saw each other.

“Kendle!” his dad yells. “Who’s there? Close the bloody door already, there’s a draft!”

Kendle is shaken awake. “Come in,” he whispers. “It’s Lenny! Remember Lenny from the travel agency?”

“Hi, Mr. Baines!” Lenny calls in turn in his cheery voice. 

“Close the door and stop shouting! I’m watching the news here, it’s important!”

In the TV studio, some experts are yelling at each other arguing about the Muslims and the danger to our way of life. 

“Sorry.” Kendle closes the door to the living room. Lenny can catch only a glimpse of Mr. Baines’ body in sweats spread on the couch. “Are you hungry?”

Lenny is, so Kendle leads him into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and stares into it for a long moment. 

“Toast with baked beans or – well, baked beans on toast?”

“Whatever, I’m starving.” Lenny sits down at the narrow table and tries to make room between the jars and coffee tins. He shakes one of them; it sounds as if there were two teaspoons of something dry inside. 

“Sorry about that.” Kendle stacks the jars and tins on top of each other. “Dad won’t let me throw them away, ‘cause he might still want to finish that.” He fishes for a pan in the stack of dirty dishes in the sink and starts washing it up in a hurry. “Sorry. I just got back from work.”

“From work?! So you’re not just visiting, you have a job? How long have you been here?”

Kendle puts down the pan, but doesn’t turn to face him. “Only a couple of months. Sorry, Lenny. I meant to call you.”

“How long?”

“About – since Christmas,” Kendle says quietly. 

“It’s July!” 

“I know. Sorry, Lenny, I really meant to, I just–” he sighs. 

“What? You forgot? Or maybe you forgot my number? Because it’s been five years, and you haven’t called me once!”

“I’m sorry. You are right.” Kendle picks up the pan and puts it onto the stove. His hands are shaking. “Do you want tea or coffee?” 

“Tea, please,” Lenny says. What he should do is leave, but he stays put. He can’t move his legs, he can’t go out into the night again, even if Kendle doesn’t want him here. “So what do you do for work?” he asks meekly.

Kendle pours a can of beans into the pan and finally turns around. 

“I sell tickets at the airport.”

“Good for you.”

“And I hate every minute of it. Why did I ever go into customer service? A perfect job for me would be to sit in a dark quiet place where no one could find me.” Kendle runs out of air and stops. “Right, tea,” he reminds himself and switches on the shiny kettle that looks much more expensive than everything else in the kitchen. 

“It’s still better than having no job at all.”

“I guess. Thanks for the money, by the way. You really helped me out then.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lenny waves a hand. “No, actually, while we are at it: could you do me a favour?” 

“Anything.”

Kendle pours the beans onto two plates and places them on the table with some toast. 

“Could I stay here for the night?”

“What happened, did you have an argument with your wife?” Kendle chuckles nervously.

Lenny stares at him in surprise. “Didn’t you get my birthday card? Oh, right, you didn’t, because I sent it to your London address.” 

“What card?”

Why does he have to say it out loud, over and over again?

“Nancy and I,” Lenny swallows a lump in his throat, “we are not together anymore.”

“Did she kick you out?” Kendle asks, a bit too eagerly for Lenny’s liking.

“Sort of.”

Now Kendle remembers to show compassion. He leans forward and touches Lenny’s knee with his fingertips. “Sorry. I’m sure she will come round.”

“No, she won’t. It’s been a month since I moved out, and she’s doing fine without me.”

“Oh. Does she have a new bloke?”

“No! Not that I know of.”

“Do you? I mean, did you? I mean, did you have someone else?”

“Of course, not! I would never–” Lenny cringes. “No, I didn’t. That’s not the reason. I don’t know what is. She just left. We were fine, and then she was like, ‘I can’t do this anymore, this isn’t working, I’m filing for divorce’. And that was it.” He wants to cry. He looks up and takes deep breaths to stop the tears. 

“I’m sorry.” Kendle puts a hand on his knee. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll just tell dad.” He gets up and leaves Lenny alone in the kitchen. There is a murmur of voices coming from the living room: Kendle’s, his dad’s and the TV. Lenny squeezes the bridge of his nose and counts to twenty. 

The voices grow louder until Kendle rushes back into the kitchen, grabs a can of lager from the fridge and disappears again. 

“How many’ve you had?” Lenny can hear him yell. “The money was for the groceries, not beer!”

“Don’t you count my money!”

“Your money is gone! I work five shifts a week so that your lazy ass – ouch!” 

Kendle returns, leans over the sink and splashes water into his face. Then he grabs two more beers out of the fridge and places them on the table with a bang. 

“Fuck him, I need a drink, too.”

“Oh yes,” Lenny agrees wholeheartedly. Kendle touches his split lip with the tip of his thumb. 

“I hate it. People will be staring at me again.”

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry. You can stay here, no problem.” Kendle picks up the fork and puts the beans into his mouth carefully, trying not to pull at his lip. Lenny opens the beer for him.

“Why did you come back?” 

“I didn’t plan to. I was in between jobs – well, fired,” Kendle laughs grimly, “and my tenancy expired at the end of last year, so I decided I hadn’t seen my dad in years, I’d go home for Christmas, take some time off. So I come back and what I find is he got himself one of these credit cards with a huge interest rate and bought all of this stuff.” He nods at the brand-new kettle. “A gigantic TV, a DVD recorder, a video camera and whatnot. But there’s no way he can pay it back. He was several months behind on his rent, there was a stack of letters from the bank under his bed, bills, threats, and on top of that an eviction notice. I’m still sorting it out. I can’t leave now, can I? He’ll end up on the street.”

“How much is it?”

“You don’t want to know.” Kendle gives him a number though. 

“Bloody hell!”

“That’s what I said when I saw it.”

They meet each other’s eye and giggle. It’s soothing – not that Kendle is unhappy, but that they are more on the same page than Lenny dared to hope.

“Ouch!” Kendle presses a finger to his split lip, but doesn’t stop giggling. 

“You know, I’ve been made redundant, too. They’ve closed our shop,” Lenny says between the fits of laughter. 

“That’s fucking terrible,” Kendle chuckles. “I’m so sorry.”

“And I’ve nowhere to live.”

“Welcome to the madhouse!”

“Your dad _is_ batshit crazy.”

“Yeah,” Kendle nods and wipes away the tears, because he cannot speak anymore. Lenny doubles up with hiccups.

“Look – at us – our life’s – perfect.”


	6. 2005: Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the pictures of Bryan Robson mentioned in the chapter. He does sort of look like Lenny, doesn't he? :)  
> Black & white, curls, muscular legs:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/100968917@N04/28212133159/in/dateposted-public/)  
> Full size: https://flic.kr/p/JZ1yhX  
> Kendle also might have enjoyed these during his lonely teenage nights:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/100968917@N04/39959793282/in/dateposted-public/)  
> Full size: https://flic.kr/p/23T7on9  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/100968917@N04/39959773742/in/dateposted-public/)  
> Full size: https://flic.kr/p/23T7hyf  
> Cutsie smile, red uniform:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/100968917@N04/26118916778/in/dateposted-public/)  
> Full size: https://flic.kr/p/FN3gZm  
> 

Kendle’s room hasn’t changed since he moved out about twelve years ago. It represents different phases of his teenage self: from football posters to Joy Division, Stone Roses and Buzzcocks to Claudia Schiffer in a bikini. In the corner there is an old guitar which Lenny once banned from his house: Kendle’s attempts of post-punk were pure torture for his ear. 

With another beer in their hands, they both recline on Kendle’s narrow bed, of the type that can be extended from a baby’s cot to full length. Even Stuart received a normal-sized bed for his eleven’s birthday last year. 

Lenny fixes his eyes on an 80s black-and-white picture showing Bryan Robson on the field; next to it there is another one in color where young Robson smiles into the camera in his red uniform, with a mop of curly hair, very much like Lenny’s. 

“People used to tell me I looked like Bryan Robson,” he says. ‘Thirty years ago’ is what he doesn’t say out loud. 

Kendle checks him out. 

“You do, actually, I never realised. I used to have a huge crush on him.”

“That explains a lot,” Lenny chuckles. Kendle kicks him in the ankle.

“Shut up! I meant a fan crush.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lenny smirks. With his second beer almost finished, he feels much more relaxed around Kendle. “Tell me about it. I bet you admired his strong, manly legs and his sexy smile.”

“I never noticed he had sexy legs.” Kendle says innocently. “Did you?”

Touché!

“That’s _your_ poster directly in front of _your_ bed. Did you admire him every night? Oh, Bryan, I love how you can handle the balls,” he moans.

“You, leave Bryan alone!” Kendle pokes him in the ribs. 

“Stop tickling me! Ouch, I’ll spill my beer!” But as soon as Kendle retreats, Lenny starts again. “Oh, Bryan, I love your powerful strikes!”

Kendle who has just taken a nonchalant sip of beer, huffs it all out through his nose. 

“Did I hit a soft spot?” Lenny asks sympathetically. 

“You dirty old man.”

“Not that old!” Lenny protests. 

“You dirty not-that-old man,” Kendle giggles. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glisten, his warm elbow is touching Lenny’s arm. It used to be so carefree to be in bed with him, to laugh and fuck and finish your beer and fall asleep. 

“Fancy a shag?” Lenny whispers and, before Kendle can respond, kisses him on the lips. Kendle leans into it, or maybe it’s just Lenny pushing forward too hard. Kendle pulls away. 

“No, I don’t.”

“It used to be fun.”

Kendle licks his lips, then turns away and sits upright. “Ten minutes ago you were telling me what your wife was wearing on her wedding day.”

The shoes two sizes too small – but she did insist on buying them. ‘They’ll stretch, Lenny, I’m sure they will.’ She had to dance barefoot all evening. Women!

“It was just an anecdote to lighten the mood! Come on, pretty boy, a quick one.”

“Lenny, you are my friend. You can stay here, we’ll have a drink, and I’ll listen to your worries, but I won’t have sex with you to make you feel better.”

His words are all grown-up and reasonable, but he sounds offended, and his lower lip curls sadly.

“I was just joking,” Lenny mutters. “Will you show me the way to the shower then?” 

* * * 

Lenny cannot remember how long it has been since he’s had a proper bath. Living in the office storage room, you are grateful for the cold water tap for maintaining basic hygiene. Luckily Gilby let him use his shower once in a while. 

Lenny sinks into the hot bath and sighs with pleasure. Almost better than sex. In fact, he could have both at the same time. Even if Kendle refuses to join in – it’s his loss. Lenny groans and stretches out in the bathtub. He cups his balls and gives the shaft a couple of quick strokes to relieve the tension. It helps a little. 

It would be more fun were this Kendle’s hand on his cock. A quick jerk after a bad day, to help him sleep and make everything alright. Oh yes, Kendle, rub it, don’t forget the head, easy, easy, you’re always squeezing too tight. He reaches down to massage around his butthole, it always makes him come faster. Not inside, he has tried it, and it felt painful and weird, but he gently presses onto the skinfolds while pushing his cock into his fist – oh, that’s beautiful, darling, open your sweet mouth, I want to cum into your soft mouth, here we go, darling.

Lenny stirs away the white strings of cum, drains the water and turns on the shower. On a hook, he finds a loofah which he sincerely hopes belongs to Kendle and soaps himself up. He feels off the edge now, just sleepy. A couple of months ago, he would climb into the bed next to Nancy’s warm body, and she would mutter in a snug funny voice that it’s late and he’s woken her up. Everything _was_ fine, until it wasn’t. He cannot have missed the signs, whatever they were. No one leaves out of the blue after almost ten years and with two kids. 

He must see the boys tomorrow. It’s Saturday, he promised. Matt has his GCSEs coming up, and Stuart was so excited about this new Star Wars episode – what’s it called? If Lenny still lived at home, no way he’d have forgotten, Stuart talks about it all the time.

The water has cooled, and Lenny’s shoulders sticking out of the tub get goosebumps. As he returns to the bedroom, he finds Kendle curled up, asleep in his t-shirt and shorts. 

“Hey, what about me?” Kendle’s bed is too narrow even for one adult, and the thought of the rubber mattress gives Lenny cramps. Kendle rubs his eyes. 

“Sorry. I’ll try to get dad off the couch.”

And start another round of yelling in the middle of the night? No, thanks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go say hello to him.”

“Thanks.” Kendle feels for the corner of the duvet and pulls it over his head. 

“Wait. Do you know what the new Star Wars film is called?”

“’R’venge of th’ S’.” Kendle falls unconscious again. 

* * *

When Lenny last saw him, Mr. Baines was a loud man in his fifties, with a moustache and a beer belly. In the funeral speech for his wife, the words ‘freaking NHS’ and ‘freaking government’ came up much more often than her name. Lenny cannot remember him crying, just being furious at everyone, especially Kendle. 

“Hello, Mr. Baines, how are you doing?” Lenny inadvertently puts on his sales smile. “I thought you might fancy another beer.”

Ten years later Mr. Baines is a potbellied mess in stained track pants; at least his moustache is still intact. He squints at the two bottles in Lenny’s hand and finally nods.

“What was your name again?”

“Lenny Smart. You can call me Lenny.”

Mr. Baines doesn’t reciprocate by inviting Lenny to call him – actually, he has no idea what Mr. Baines’ first name is. Lenny sits down on the edge of the couch and offers him a beer.

“Terrible news,” Lenny points to the screen where this morning’s pictures are still flashing. “Poor people.”

“Bloody Muslims! I said years ago, we should’ve banned them when we had a chance.”

Lenny grunts noncommittally.

“You’ll see, thirty years from now, we’ll be wiping their arses.” Mr. Baines gulps down his beer. “I’ve been working as a bus driver my whole life, and then suddenly all these Arabs, Mohammeds and, what’s his name, Jaceks are coming in, ‘cause we opened our borders to all kinds of scum.”

“I’m sure Jacek’s not an Arab name,” Lenny remarks just to say something.

“Whatever. I told them they had no business being here, and you know what happened? A medical attest. Thanks, Derrick, you are not fit for work, here’s your pension.” He gestures, as if being thrown out of the window, and drips beer on the carpet. “Now it’s Jacek fucking Kowalski and Mohammed driving on my route.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And London’s much worse, it’s full of them. My son’s not a stupid boy, but he couldn’t settle there. Why? ‘Cause he’s a wimp. He wants to be nice to everyone. And you need to fight for your place. Look!” he points to the screen. “They’re fighting us already, we must stand up for ourselves.”

“Kendle’s not doing too bad.”

“Bah!” Mr. Baines huffs dismissively. 

“But you’re right, he has a hard time standing up for himself,” Lenny agrees in order not to annoy him. 

“See! I told you so.” Mr. Baines clanks their bottles together. “Cheers – what was your name again? Cheers, Lenny. You can call me Derrick.”

* * *

Lenny can see Stuart from afar: he is kicking a ball listlessly against a brick wall. Lenny starts into a jog, as if twenty seconds would make up for the fact that he overslept terribly. He has to slow down though, as his stomach turns unpleasantly with every step. That cheap brew Derrick made him drink yesterday was pure poison. 

Stuart notices him and drops the ball to the ground fixing it with his foot, but doesn’t smile or run to hug him.

“Hi, Stu!” Lenny waves to greet him. God, does it sound fake. Since when does he talk to his son in his chirpy salesman voice?

“Hi.” Stuart kicks the ball lightly and stops it with his foot again. He is wearing a Star Wars t-shirt Lenny hasn’t seen before. 

“Nice t-shirt.” 

Stuart pulls at it to take a look at Yoda’s face. “Thanks. Mum bought it for me.”

“You must be dying to see the new film? What’s it called?”

“’Revenge of the Sith’,” Stuart says without raising his eyes. 

“Yes, right, I remember, you told me. Many times.” Lenny laughs and wants to bite his tongue, it sounds so unnatural. “Well, how about we ask Matt if he wants to come, and then I’ll take you to the cinema?”

“Mum took us yesterday. She tried to call you, but you wouldn’t answer the phone.”

“Shit!” Lenny claps around his pockets. “My phone died. Sorry, pet, I was a bit busy. I was–” No, Stuart doesn’t need to hear about the most desperate day of his life. “I had some stuff to do. Do you wanna see the film again?”

Stuart shakes his head, his lips pressed together tightly. 

“Do you wanna do something else? Erm, go to the park and practice the stepover? Your coach said you should work on it.”

“I won’t play football anymore,” Stuart says quietly. Lenny’s breath is caught in his throat.

“What? Why?”

Stuart shrugs. “Don’t want to.”

“But you love football!” Lenny takes him by the shoulders to look into his face. “Don’t you? What happened? Did they kick you out of the team? Look, I can go and talk to the coach–”

“No, they didn’t.”

“What then?”

“Matt said you wouldn’t come.” Lenny can hardly hear him. “Matt said we’d see less and less of you until you’d stop coming, because you’re not our dad and you won’t be interested, now you and mum are not together anymore.”

“This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard!” Lenny hunkers down in front of Stuart to hug him. Stuart feels limp and lifeless in his arms, like a puppet. “Next time Matt says something like this, tell him he’s an idiot. Alright?”

Stuart nods slowly. “Matt _is_ an idiot.”

“That’s my boy!” Lenny gets up and pats him on the back. His head goes spinning for a moment from the sudden movement. Tonight will be one-hundred percent beer-free. 

“Were you at the pub yesterday?” Stuart asks.

“No-o!” Lenny exclaims and changes the subject. “Is Matt at home?”

Matthew is sitting on the edge of the couch staring at the TV screen, his headphones on, the Playstation controls in his hands. He has been like this since his birthday in March.

“Matt!” Lenny calls. 

The video jerks wildly imitating the player’s point of view; Lenny has to turn away quickly and swallow so as not to throw up. He sits down beside his older son and avoids looking at the screen.

“Matt!”

Matt keeps pretending not to hear him. Lenny pulls off his headphones. Matt draws away, but pauses the game. 

“Hi, Matty. How are you doing?”

“I’m busy.”

“Look, sorry about the cinema, I had some important stuff to do. Office handover,” Lenny wants to explain, because that’s something Matt would understand. 

“Yeah, pub, Friday quiz, I know.”

“I wasn’t at the pub!”

“If you say so,” Matt sniffs. He must smell yesterday’s beer on him. 

“I wasn’t at the pub! Maybe I had a pint, because it was a hard day, and my head almost exploded. Anyway, it’s not your place to talk to me like that!”

Matt turns away. “I want my headphones back.”

“And I want to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“How are your GCSEs going?”

“I want my headphones back,” Matt repeats stubbornly. God, can he be annoying.

“Matt, cut the crap! We should have given you a new bike or a skateboard instead of this stupid game.”

“It’s not stupid, you’re stupid. I want my headphones back.” 

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your exams?”

“No.”

“What did your mum say?” Lenny appeals to the higher power. 

“Mum said, one hour a day tops,” Stuart offers helpfully. “And you’ve been playing since breakfast. It’s my turn!”

“No, it’s not!”

“It is! I want to play, too!”

“It’s no one’s turn!” Lenny interrupts them. “How about that: Stuart and I are going to take a walk. Matt, you either come with us or you go to your room and start studying.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“We’ll see about that. Give that thing to me,” Lenny tries to grab the controls, but Matt’s quicker. Must be all those hours he spends in virtual combat. 

“It’s mine! You have no right to touch my property.”

“Can I have it?” Stuart snatches the joystick from behind Matt’s back. 

“Don’t touch my things!” Matt tries to elbow him. 

“Dad told you to stop!”

“He’s not my dad!” 

“You’re an idiot!” Stuart swings the joystick at his brother and lands a blow onto the side of his head. Matt reacts like a commando. He grabs Stuart around the neck and throws him onto the couch, then punches him in the stomach. Stuart yelps and kicks his legs in the air. 

“Cut it off!” Lenny pushes Matt away; he doesn’t resist. Stuart begins to wail. “Are you hurt?” Stuart nods, tears in his eyes. “Okay, you!” Lenny points his finger at Matt. “To your room, now! And I don’t want to hear a peep from you! Stu, where does it hurt?”

Matt storms off, but instead of the boys’ room, Lenny can hear the front door bang. 

Stuart turns out to be more upset than hurt. After a glass of water and a hug, he calms down. They decide to stay at home – which is fine with Lenny, because honestly he cannot afford to throw away twenty quid to sponsor George Lucas’ new villa. Stuart is happy to get his hands onto the Playstation, and even more happy to win round after round against Lenny who is hopeless at pressing that many buttons at once and keeping his eyes on the jerking images on the screen and following the game strategy. 

At half past six, the key turns in the door. Matt, finally! He’s been out for too long. But it’s not him. 

“Mum!” Stuart runs to greet Nancy. “I beat dad seventeen times already. Seventeen!”

“Wow,” Lenny can hear her say in the hallway. “What time did he come?”

Lenny gets up. Should he leave? He remains standing in the middle of the room while Stuart prattles on. Then Nancy appears in the door frame, grocery bags in both hands. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi!” Lenny exclaims, as if a bolt of lightning shot through him. “What’s for dinner?”

Nancy’s face changes from a polite and forbearing to the one indicating the oncoming storm. 

“Really?” she asks pointedly. Lenny backtracks quickly. 

“Let me help you with that.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She walks into the kitchen and lowers the bags onto the table. Stuart follows her like a hungry puppy and peeks into one. 

“Mum, can we have the chicken wings today?”

“Didn’t dad make you lunch? Turn on the oven, and put the ice-cream into the freezer. Thanks, love.”

“I can do that!” Lenny offers. 

“Stuart can manage.”

“Here, give me that,” he takes the bags off Stuart anyway and starts putting the groceries away. Everything is where it should be: the cereals on the bottom shelf on the right, the tea on the top shelf. The milk goes onto the fridge door, and the tomatoes in the sliding veg compartment. The bottle rack holds a sole orange juice; no beer where it used to be. Instead, there is a half-empty bottle of red wine next to the milk. Nancy must miss him, as she pours herself a glass or two every evening. 

“Can dad stay for dinner?” Stuart asks. “Mum, please?”

“No, I think he has to be somewhere else tonight.”

“No, I actually don’t.”

“Stuart, love, please put away the Playstation,” Nancy says sweetly. When he leaves, she whispers dramatically: “What are you doing?” 

“I miss you, too.”

“Lenny,” she sighs. “We have an agreement.”

“Can’t I have dinner at my own house?”

Nancy rubs her face carefully, minding her make-up. “Okay, we’ll move out, if this is not working for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I just want some chicken wings, not a house. Let’s all sit down together like a family and forget this stupid divorce for one evening.”

“That’s what the boys wanted to do yesterday. I kept calling you the whole afternoon.”

Lenny cringes. “Something came up. I can repay you twenty quid for the tickets,” he offers; knowing Nancy, she will refuse. 

“That’s not the issue here. The issue is that you chose to spend the time with your mates, as you always do.” She cuts herself off. “No, I’m not going through this again. It’s over, Lenny, and I won’t spend the evening staring at your face.”

“I wasn’t with my mates – well, technically, sort of, but it’s different!”

“Luckily, I don’t care anymore.”

Stuart is back. He hugs Lenny around the waist and looks up. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Lenny glances at Nancy in case she has changed her mind and meets her deadly stare. 

He has to blink hard and swallow to make his voice sound normal. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Sure, I promise.”

“Will you come the day after tomorrow?”

“I will.”

“And on Tuesday?”

“Yes.”

“And on Wednesday?”

“Are you going through the whole calendar?” Lenny makes an effort to smile.

“Will you?” Stuart insists. 

“Yes.”

“Can I come and see your place?”

“Er, maybe later. I’m staying with a friend.”

“Uncle Gilby?” 

“No, his name’s Kendle. You haven’t met him.”

“I thought he was in London,” Nancy says. 

“No, he’s been back for a while. We got in touch a couple of months ago, and he was so kind as to offer me to stay with him. Yeah, Kendle, he’s great, he’s amazing, a real friend. And he has a spare room with a real bed an’ all, so I’m very comfortable there.” Nancy is still not impressed, so he adds: “Much more comfortable than here, actually.” That’s a bit over the top; Lenny shuts up. 

Stuart walks him to the corner, clutching at his hand as if he were five and scared of being lost in the dark. Nancy must realise what she is doing is wrong. She cannot ignore the kids like that. 

“Is it far, where you live?” Stuart asks. 

“A bit.”

“How do you get there?”

“You have to take a bus, and then another bus.”

Stuart sighs. “Jay’s father moved back to Jamaica last year. So two buses is not too bad, I guess.”

“Of course, not!” Lenny exclaims almost too cheerfully. “And did Jay stop playing football after that?” Stuart shakes his head. “Right, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll practice the stepover, agreed?”


	7. 2005: Chapter 3

Kendle said he wouldn’t be back from work until 9 p.m. Spending the rest of the evening one-on-one with Derrick is not Lenny’s idea of a perfect Saturday night. Not having your own home sucks! The bus pulls up at the bus-stop, but Lenny pretends he hasn’t been waiting and starts walking in the opposite direction. He’ll just quickly check out the ‘Four Bells’, one of his mates might be there. 

And surely, Vic waives at him from their usual corner table. Lilliann is with him. Even Vic can get laid, and he only changes his shirt once a week. 

“Looking gorgeous, darling,” Lenny kisses Lilliann’s powdered and painted cheek. Her sweet and spicy perfume makes him want to sneeze. “You smell like a ginger biscuit.”

“See!” she kicks Vic under the table. “The mister here said it smelt like cat piss.”

“I didn’t! I just asked if the neighbour’s cat wandered into our house again.”

“’Cause you smelt cat piss.”

“You smell yummy though,” Lenny says to get her off the topic. “I’d eat you.”

He pretends to bite her neck. Lilliann giggles. 

“Oi, that’s my woman!” Vic protests. “Get your own one!”

Lenny didn’t mean to hit on his girlfriend: Lilliann is tall, bony, loud, with a head of yellow curls and bright pink lipstick – not his type at all. But it might not be a bad idea, to find someone new. A little distraction. A bed to sleep in. 

“Do you have any single girlfriends?” he asks Lilliann. 

“Hmm,” she looks him over critically. “I might. What kind of women do you like?”

“Sort of – cuddly,” he draws circles with his hands. “And nice. Friendly. Warm.”

“Write down,” Vic translates, “big boobs, big arse, and desperate, ‘cause he can’t handle a critical attitude.”

“Thanks for moral support, mate.” 

“You’re welcome.”

“Have you found a new job yet?” Lilliann asks. Lenny rolls his eyes, sighs and shakes his head. “That’s bad.”

“Wait, your own boyfriend is on benefits and lives at your house!”

Lilliann shrugs with girlish innocence: “Yeah, but he is sexy. Aren’t you, darling?” She smudges Vic with a wet kiss on the lips; Lenny hardly has time to avert his eyes. 

“Well, tastes differ,” he mutters into his pint.

* * *

Kendle opens the door for him as Lenny gets home. He is still wearing his uniform – including a pink tie. Lenny chuckles.

“God, what a stupid tie!”

“Piss off.” Kendle leaves the door open for him, rubs his bloodshot eyes and stumbles back to his bedroom. 

“Works with your eye colour!” Lenny shouts after him. “Hi, Derrick.” There is Mr. Baines again spread on his old couch in front of the TV. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Hell knows what, he always has something. When I was his age, I had to take care of a wife and a baby, and I didn’t complain! And here he is, in my house, gets everything on a silver platter, and he still wants some special treatment. Have you got any beer in there?”

Lenny finds himself still standing in the doorway with two Tesco’s bags in his hands. The heavier one in his right hand if full of beer to replace what they finished up last night. 

“Here you go.” He gives a bottle to Derrick. “I’ll put the rest in the fridge.”

He backs out of the living room, but instead of the kitchen, he drops off the bags in the corner of Kendle’s bedroom. Kendle is lying on the bed, his head under a pillow. 

“Are you crying?”

“No,” Kendle says in a nasal voice. Lenny sits down on the floor next to the bed and peeks under the pillow. It’s wet and stuffy in there. “Piss off,” Kendle pushes away his hand and hides again like a giant turtle in a too tiny shell. 

“A beer?” Lenny offers. 

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll have one. A sandwich? I got some at a seventy-percent discount. They always drop the price at the end of the day. I hope it tastes better than it looks.” Kendle stretches out a hand, and Lenny puts a sandwich into it. “I wonder how you’re gonna eat under that pillow.”

Kendle has to crawl out into the light and starts unpacking the sandwich. He sniffles and wipes his nose at the back of his hand. 

“What’s with the tie?” Lenny hits the bottle cap against the bedframe to open it. It leaves a mark on the wood. Oops. 

Kendle remembers he is still wearing the pink horror around his neck and wriggles out of it.

“Bastards. No decent pay, no respect, and then this stupid uniform. Makes your face look like you have acne. Today our system shut down, and we couldn’t sell any tickets. On top of that, there was a storm in the Mediterranean, so flights to a ton of holiday destinations were delayed. And who had to deal with the furious crowd? No, not the manager, me! I’m standing there like an idiot: ‘No, sorry, I can’t change your ticket, please take a seat in the waiting area, we will take care of it. No, sorry, I can’t make the storm end, I’m not fucking God!’ So I feel like a hamster in a wheel. Babies start screaming. People are yelling at me, like it’s all my fault. Two hours later, the manager appears from his lunch break all refreshed and elegant, like a prime minister, and you know what he says? ‘Mr. Baines, you are responsible for creating this chaos, so if there are any complaints, they will go onto your file’, Kendle mimics in a pretentious voice.

“Yep, what a bastard,” Lenny agrees. “Put a laxative in his coffee. See how refreshed he feels after that.”

Kendle giggles. “Eww, Lenny.”

“Just imagine.”

Lenny pretends to enjoy a cup of coffee, then pulls a face, pops his eyes out, looks down and gives a tiny desperate wail. Kendle bursts out laughing. 

“I’ll remember this every time he tries to screw with me. You know why he always takes ridiculously long lunch breaks? Everyone says he’s banging the girl from the coffee lounge in the back room. Our guys even went to check, and she always has a break at the same time as he does. And he’s married! He’s wearing a ring! I mean, he comes home in the evening and kisses his wife, ‘How was your day, darling?’, and looks her in the eye as if nothing happened. That’s sick, I could never live a lie like that.”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t. You’re a terrible liar.”

“That’s not the point! How do you stay in two relationships at once and not go mad? How do you love two people at once? My head would explode.”

“I think the trick is he doesn’t do them simultaneously. He loves one during the day, and the other one at night. It’s like working two shifts at two different pubs,” Lenny says with grave seriousness. Kendle considers it.

“You think? But wouldn’t it be easier to choose the one he loves best and stay with her?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know which one he loves best.”

“That’s sad.” Kendle starts chewing on his sandwich melancholically. “If I loved someone, I’d want to stay with that person forever and ever.”

“Yep, that’s why he has two birds, and you have none.” Kendle pulls a face as if he had a toothache. “You’re overthinking it. He just likes a quick shag during his lunch break, that’s all. And he probably has two kids and a mortgage with his wife, so he won’t leave her for a fling.” This reminds Lenny. “I wouldn’t mind a quick shag myself.” He sighs. “It’s been,” he counts on his fingers, “more than six months since I’ve done it with a real person.”

“I thought your divorce was only a month ago.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’ve been a couple of love birds up until the court date, right? I’ve been sleeping on the couch for months. One night we were getting ready for bed, and she sat me down and she cried and told me she couldn’t do it anymore. So I said I’d sleep downstairs just for that night, ‘cause I thought she’d get over it. We never slept in the same bed again. That was right after Christmas. Her parents came to visit, so I think she kept the pretence around them, and as soon as they left,” Lenny flicks his fingers dismissively. “A great start of the year, what?” 

Kendle slides down to the floor to sit next to him and hugs him around the neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’ll be alright. Remember that film we saw, where the guy says, life is like a box of chocolates.”

“What, it’s less and less of them left in the box, and the ones that are left turn dry and tasteless with time?”

“No, I’m sure he meant something different. I can’t remember what exactly.”

“Thanks, Kendle, that’s very helpful.”

“I believe he meant you’d meet someone else, ‘cause you’re a fantastic person, Lenny. You’ll fall in love, and go to Paris and kiss under the Eiffel tower. And soon you’ll be sending everyone cheesy pictures like that.” Kendle cuddles up to Lenny, presses their cheeks together and pretends to take a picture of them both holding a camera at arm’s length. “Smile, honeypie!” he sings in a girly voice.

“’Cause me mates absolutely need another reason to make fun of me,” Lenny grumbles, although Kendle’s silly game does make him feel a little easier. 

“When you’re in love, you don’t care what other people think.”

“People look silly when they’re in love, and they don’t even realise it.” Like Vic with smears of pink lipstick around his mouth. Lilliann didn’t notice, and Lenny didn’t tell him just for the sake of it. When Vic walked up to the bar, the stares and giggles were precious. “A quick wank would be nice though,” Lenny slides his hand across Kendle’s tense belly.

Kendle giggles. “You’re tickling me.”

Lenny traces Kendle’s side with his fingertips up towards his armpit. “Am I? Sorry.”

“Piss off, Lenny!” Kendle giggles nervously and tries to kick him. “Dad’ll hear us.”

“It’s you who’s laughing like crazy.”

“Stop tickling me!” Kendle falls backwards in a desperate attempt to get away. 

“What if I won’t?” Lenny pins him down and grinds their crotches together. As Kendle’s body heats up, it radiates the smell of sweat and Old Spice deodorant. 

They’ve done it so many times. You start with your pants on, until you get hard and it hurts, pull your pants down and rub your cocks between your wet bellies. “Got any Vaseline?”

“Lenny, I can’t.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet.”

“I don’t want to.”

“The hell you do. You’ve got a boner.”

“I really don’t.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t play hard-to-get with me, do you want a ring first or what?”

“Lenny, I have a girlfriend.” 

Kendle is staring away from him, up at the Joy Division poster on the wall, the one with the weeping angel from ‘Love will tear us apart’. Lenny lifts himself up on his elbows.

“No, you don’t! If you did, you would’ve bragged about it first thing!”

“You were talking about your divorce non-stop, I didn’t want to rub it in!”

Lenny sits up. “Oh, great, thanks, I feel much better now you’ve made a fool out of me!”

Kendle gathers himself from the floor and sits on the bed. “Sorry about that.”

“When did you meet her?”

“February.”

“That was quick.”

“Sorry.”

“What does she do?”

“Flight attendant with FastJet.”

“She must be pretty then.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Blonde?”

“No, sort of brown.”

“Have you slept with her?”

“Lenny, I won’t answer that!”

“So you haven’t?”

“I have!”

“How many times?”

“Hundreds!”

“Here?” Lenny is skeptical.

“No, at her place!”

“Can I meet her?”

“No!”

“Aha!” Lenny exclaims triumphantly.

“No, ‘cause you’re disgusting! I don’t want you to be disgusting to my girlfriend.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Think whatever you want.”

They pick up their sandwiches and chew in silence for a while.

“My son said today I wasn’t his dad and he didn’t want to speak to me anymore.”

“That sucks.” Kendle says.

“Yep.” Lenny crumples the plastic sandwich wrap and throws it into a corner. 

* * *

Derrick’s TV is blasting away with gunfire and explosions. How can Kendle sleep through this racket? Although it’s his day off tomorrow, Kendle called it a night at 1 a.m. leaving Lenny one-on-one with his dad. Derrick has no intention of getting off the couch until the film is over, so Lenny also has to sit through it, too. It’s one of the latest Hollywood productions with that egg-headed actor Lenny can’t remember the name of. He is always wearing the same blank facial expression; even the good old Stallone had more variety. Derrick watches the film intently, but without a flicker of emotion. 

“Do you reckon he does the stunts himself?” Lenny asks to break the silence. Derrick grunts and shrugs. Lenny counts that as a sign that the ice is broken.

“So, Kendle’s girlfriend, what’s she like?” 

“Who?” Derrick doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“His girlfriend. The stewardess. Brown hair, pretty. Have you met her?”

“Why’d a pretty girl fall for this lazy bastard? He still lives with his dad!” Derrick laughs at his own joke.

“Well, apparently one has. Kendle is quite good-looking. I mean, girls seem to like his type.” 

“Let’s hope he doesn’t knock her up then.” Derrick opens another beer.

* * *

“I have no idea where it is!” Kendle’s voice rises to a shrill. Lenny wakes up with a start, sits up and clutches his head. Will there be a morning without a headache?

“Oh no, you do! You sold it, didn’t you? I know what you’re doing! You steal my stuff while I’m asleep, and then you sell it!”

The voices are coming from Derrick’s bedroom. 

“Who’d want your old soldering iron?”

“It was ten quid when I got it. Not your modern cheapie crap!”

“When was the last time you used it?” Kendle tries to speak calmly, but his voice is shaky. 

“When I had to solder that stupid blender for your mum over and over again. I don’t know why the bloody woman had to only eat food that looked like vomit.”

Kendle is silent for a moment, then there is a thud, like he threw something heavy on the floor. 

“I’m not looking for your fucking soldering iron! You must’ve lost it years ago!”

He storms into the living room – nods “Hi, Lenny” – kneels in front of a closet and begins to rummage in it frantically. Lenny catches himself staring, falls back onto the pillow and pretends to be far away from here.

“I never lose anything!” Derrick appears in the doorframe. “I know exactly where my things are, and you, little shit, were stealing money from my pockets even as you were this big.” Derrick draws a ridiculously low line with his hand, at about a 3-year-old’s height. 

“Here,” Kendle pulls a black box from underneath a pile of old magazines and throws it towards his father. “Here’s your soldering iron. Stuff it.” He gets up. “And yeah, I did take your money and spend it on whores and booze even as I was this big!”

“You little thieving bastard,” Derrick says in a slow and low voice that makes Lenny’s stomach turn. Kendle takes a step back, but he is almost standing inside the closet already.

Time to wake up. 

“Morning, Derrick!” Lenny jumps out of bed, without taking notice of his headache, and stretches his back. “Lovely weather again, eh? What’s for breakfast? Or did you have breakfast without me? I could make some scrambled eggs, if we have eggs. No? Then Kendle and I should make a trip to the supermarket. I’ll just put away my bed, so you can have your cosy couch back.”

Lenny keeps talking and talking, because you need to engage people, be friendly, be everywhere at once, then they’ll lose track and follow you and buy into whatever you are saying. He moves around putting away the bedclothes, getting dressed as quickly as possible. 

“So, some eggs and tomatoes, and maybe some cheese and ham, some ketchup as well, or do you prefer mustard, Derrick? Yeah, both, and the brown sauce.” Lenny pulls at Kendle’s t-shirt to get him moving. “We’ll see you later, Derrick, ta-dah!”

In the lift, Kendle leans heavily onto the graffiti-d wall (a new message there: “Hassan fucks Chelsey”). 

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“That’s alright.”

“Thanks, Lenny.”

“Yeah,” Lenny shrugs. “Everyone needed a bit of fresh air. What did he want the soldering iron for?”

“Hell knows. He sometimes gets these ideas.”

“Did you really steal money from him?” 

“Mum did sometimes to get by until the next payday. She’d wait until he returned from the pub and take a couple of quid. The next day he just assumed he’d spent it on that extra pint. But if he noticed, I’d tell him it was me, because I could run faster,” Kendle gives a short laugh. “But mostly he didn’t notice. Don’t get the wrong idea, we didn’t starve, Dad always earned enough. He’d just sometimes get stubborn and tell Mum we ate too much. He still has no idea how much the groceries cost.”

The lift stops. They walk out of the grey concrete box of a high-rise into a beautiful sunny morning. Lenny squints and covers his eyes. Kendle smiles and turns his face under the sunrays, as if standing under a warm shower.

“Mum had this blender, it used to break down all the time. Dad would make a scene, but then repair it, and it’d break down again two weeks later. I almost never saw her eat normal food, just these cooked carrots or celery or peas, mashed to look like baby food. And when she made us dinner, she’d always say, ‘I’m not hungry’, or ‘I’ve already eaten’, and just sit there sipping tea with milk. She loved her tea with milk.”

Kendle squeezes his eyes shut tightly and sighs. Lenny pats his shoulder. 

“I’m sure she was great. It’s a pity I never got to meet her.”

“She would’ve liked you,” Kendle says with conviction. 

On their way back – with the eggs and tomatoes, cheese and ham, ketchup and mustard, as promised – Kendle suddenly pushes his bag into Lenny’s hand and shoots forward like he has seen a fire. 

“Oi, Kendle, what’s wrong with you?” Lenny almost drops the eggs as he tries to get a better hold on the plastic handle. A minute later he catches up with Kendle at the house entrance and finds him up against the gloomy teenager on a red Vespa that refused to show Lenny the way a few days back. 

“Don’t touch it, or I’ll rip your ears off!” Kendle is shouting desperately. Very unconvincing.

“Go on then,” the teenager says, looking down at his sneakers, his hands behind his back. It’s a wonder he doesn’t laugh out into Kendle’s face. 

“Next time – I will!” Kendle promises. 

“See you next time then.” He glances up at Lenny approaching, turns around and disappears into the house. His gut feeling probably told him he wouldn’t stand a chance against two grown men, even if one of them seems to have no spine.

“I’m calling the police next time!” Kendle shouts after him. “You’ll see!”

“Stop screaming. What did he do?” Lenny asks as he comes closer.

“He keeps playing with my Vespa!” Kendle kneels next to the bright red moped and strokes its shiny side, checking for scratches. 

“It’s yours?!”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“You can actually ride it?” Lenny asks. 

“Of course, I can! I didn’t bring it all the way from London just to admire it.”

“You rode it up here from London? In winter?” 

Kendle shudders. “I couldn’t just leave it, could I? And I didn’t have any money for a ticket, so…”

“You are kidding me.”

Kendle goes around the Vespa to check the mirrors.

“It uses very little petrol, so it was quite cheap. It wasn’t too bad.”

“In December?” Lenny asks again in disbelief. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it. I had to take country roads, it took me forever,” Kendle admits. “But it was fun. Sort of. An adventure. More fun in summer though.”

“I bet.”

“We could go somewhere today, if you want!” Kendle is suddenly enthusiastic. “It’s really cool, I promise!”

“Um.” Lenny would look silly clutching at Kendle’s back on top of a tiny red Vespa. But on the other hand, Stuart would be so impressed. It’s a hard choice.

“Are you scared?” Kendle cocks his head. 

“I’m not!”

“You are! I dare you: I’ll get the keys, and we’ll ride around the block. Wait here!”

“Kendle, the groceries!” Both Lenny’s hands are full, so he gives an annoyed shrug to point it out. Kendle takes a bag off him.

“Right, sorry.”

While the eggs are sizzling in the pan, Kendle makes a cup of tea for himself and an instant coffee for Lenny. 

“We _are_ going for a ride after breakfast?” he nods in anticipation as he sits down. If he were a dog, his tail would be working like a little drum machine.

“Actually, I promised to see the kids today.”

“Oh.” Kendle stops smiling. “I see. That’s important.”

“And I’m sure you’ll want to meet your girlfriend today. It’s your only day off this week.”

Kendle pours milk into his tea and stirs it slowly. “Not today. She’s away on a flight.”

“How sad,” Lenny says without a hint of sadness in his voice. “I won’t be able to meet her then.”

“She _is_ real. Her name is Deb. Deborah.”

“I can hear no tenderness in your voice,” Lenny remarks to wind him up. Kendle grimaces in what he thinks is a romantic expression.

“Deborah. Debbie. Deb– oh, shit!” He jumps up as he notices the eggs burning. 

“Where’s my breakfast?” Derrick yells. 

“Coming! Fuck,” Kendle mutters. “Lenny, does this look alright to you?”

“Just remove the black bits.”

Kendle serves a half of the scrambled eggs on a plate and takes it to the living room for his dad.

“Are you retarded? You can’t even fry an egg“, Lenny can hear Derrick start a rouse again. He sighs and gets up. 

“Hey, Derrick, sorry about your breakfast,” he puts on his widest smile and sticks his head into the living room. “I’m not used to a gas stove, we had an electric one, so I might have burnt it a little.”

“It’s not too bad,” Derrick grunts and picks up the fork. “Kendle, get me some brown sauce, will ye?”

The look of relief on Kendle’s face is worth it. Lenny gives him a tiny wink and returns to the kitchen first. He puts two slices of bread into the toaster and sits down at the table to cut the ham. After dealing with the sauce, Kendle tiptoes in as well – and grabs Lenny from behind in a surprise hug. 

“Oh, Lenny, I love you!” 

“Oi, careful, I’ve got a knife in my hand!” 

“Can I come with you? Please, I can’t stay at home! If you want, I can drop you off and wait in a pub, but please, please, let me come with you!”

“I don’t know.” Lenny drawls out. “Will you teach my son how to ride a moped?”

“Sure!”

“Alright then,” Lenny agrees, as if unwillingly.

“Thank you!” Kendle breathes out straight into his ear, so that Lenny has to wince and rub at it. “What are you doing?”

“Making a sandwich.”

Kendle laughs. “No, why are you cutting the ham like this?” He leans forward across Lenny’s shoulder and picks up one of the edges Lenny has sliced off. 

“Because, you see,” Lenny puts a toast down in the middle of the plate, “the bread is square-shaped, and the ham is round, but we don’t want any bits hanging over, so we have to cut them off.”

“Why?” Kendle stuffs the extra pieces into his mouth.

“Because–” Lenny pauses. Because Matt would rather starve than eat a wrong sandwich. But Matt is not here, and Lenny might never ever have to make breakfast sandwiches for him again. “It tastes better this way, you should try it,” he says instead with as much conviction as possible.

“Wow, I didn’t know that,” Kendle agrees, wide-eyed. “Make one for me as well.”


End file.
